Unforeseen Melodies
by Sisimka
Summary: Five years after the Blight. Aedan is still chasing darkspawn in the Deep Roads. He & Leliana travel to Orlais for a holiday, and they run into several old 'friends'. They should have killed Marjolaine the first time. Rated M violence & mature themes.
1. The Arl of Amaranthine

_It's been nearly five years since the archdemon was slain, ending the fifth Blight, and two and a half since Aedan defeated the architect. Alistair and Brenna (his wife) rule Ferelden and Leliana remains Alistair's chancellor. Zevran is still attached to the Grey Wardens in an unofficial role. Oghren leads Alistair's armies. The companions all lead busy lives and though Ferelden has enjoyed over two years of relative peace (thanks in large part to Grey Warden patrols and diligence), none of them rests easily. They constantly find themselves torn between their duty to Ferelden, family and their own well being._

_A/N: For those of you who have not read my previous fictions, here is a quick explanation of Aedan's family. Aedan and Leliana have three children: Luke (adopted in The Hero of Ferelden), Riordan (their natural son born at the end of The Hero of Ferelden) and Grace (adopted in Gifts)._

* * *

The Arl of Amaranthine

"Aedan."

Someone shook his shoulder gently and Aedan roused himself. Raising his head from his crossed arms he squinted about, recognizing his study in the early dawn light. Apparently he'd been sleeping at his desk, again. Looking up he saw Luke standing next to him, his eyes glinting with amusement.

"Doing your paperwork?"

Aedan glanced at the reports and correspondence between his folded arms and blinked a moment before finding his voice. "Yes." He chuckled and sat back, rubbing at his eyes and scratching his jaw before stretching. "Did I miss breakfast?"

"No, it's still early; I was just too excited to sleep."

Aedan grinned at the excitement in his son's eyes. At eighteen, Luke was properly a man, though really, he'd made him one just before his sixteenth birthday when he'd put the boy through the Joining ritual in order to save his life. The memory of that day still haunted his nightmares. They had spent the last two had a half years together at Vigil's Keep, and when Aedan hadn't been underground he felt he had come to know the boy, the man. Though more reserved than himself, Luke had a happy and generous nature and was often the source of laughter among the Wardens. His youth bolstered the vitality of them all.

"Well, they won't be here until this afternoon, so we had best find some way to occupy ourselves until then." Aedan stood and clapped Luke on the shoulder, marveling again at his son's new found height. The young man nearly rivaled his own six feet and two inches now. "Let's get something to eat and perhaps I'll try and get a strike in against you this morning."

The cook looked up and smiled as two the Wardens entered the kitchen. Well used to the enormous appetites of her charges she welcomed visitors at all hours and kept a steady supply of fruit, sandwiches and sweet treats on hand. "Breakfast will be another hour, Commander, but I have some sweet rolls left from yesterday if you need something now." Aedan helped himself to a handful, splitting his bounty with Luke and looked up as the matronly woman spoke again, her tone eager. "I bet you two are excited, eh? That lovely wife of yours is a delight, Commander. And those two little ones," she clucked and sighed over the pot of porridge she stirred.

Aedan grinned around a mouthful of flaky pastry. Glancing at Luke, he included his son in his response. "We are. And of course, we'll be happy to see the King as well!"

A buoyant feeling chased the cobwebs from his mind as Aedan looked ahead to the afternoon. His wife, his beloved Leliana, and his two youngest children would be here. Again, it had been over a month since he'd seen them. It had been three months since he'd seen Alistair, his Brother and his King. Though Aedan counted all his Wardens as Brothers and many of them as friends, he and Alistair shared a bond almost closer than blood. Rolling his shoulders and flexing his arms he nodded to Luke and said, "Let's hit the yard, we'll want time for a bath before Leli sees us."

They shared a chuckle and walked to the armory. Along the way they met several other Wardens making their way to the kitchen. Aedan greeted each by name until he came upon his second. He paused to grasp Philippe's arm.

"Good morning, Philippe."

Philippe nodded and with a surreptitious glance at his hair said, "Did you sleep at your desk again, Commander?"

Aedan made an attempt to smooth his short hair and grinned at the Orlesian. "But that will be the very last time. As of tonight, I will no longer be responsible for the arling of Amaranthine."

"Right you are, Commander. See you in the yard." Philippe smiled and with a bow of his head, went on his way.

The armory held a single Warden, and he looked even more disheveled than Aedan. Striding toward him, Aedan took his arm and hugged him warmly. "Nate."

"Aedan. You're up early."

"As are you." Aedan stopped to consider his friend. "You're not packing your bags and planning to run out on me are you?"

Nathaniel grinned at him. "No. I think I'm here for the same reason you are. I needed something to pass the time."

Aedan clapped him on the shoulder. "Let's get to the yard then."

As they performed their warm up exercises Wardens filtered out into the yard in twos and threes and each of them offered a salute and a greeting. Though they had a schedule for training, Wyman, the Senior Warden, never felt the need to enforce times and places. These were dedicated men and women, if they didn't show up for practice there was always a good reason. Zevran walked outside with Kayley at his side and Aedan lifted his chin in a quick greeting to his long time friend and companion.

Wyman and Philippe stepped into the yard and all the Wardens made sure to salute their captains. Aedan grinned at the show of respect, over thirty Wardens crossing their arms in salute made quite a sight. Despite losses, they had come far. Wyman called the Wardens to order and began suggesting partners and drills.

As all the Wardens were actually in the keep, the morning's practice was lively and quickly evolved into an informal tournament. Aedan sparred against a variety of partners, even meeting Luke in his promised match and though he won, it was only by a point. Luke was fast, and Aedan had to grudgingly admit he was tired, so very tired. Zevran defeated him handily and went on to advance to the final round against Wyman.

Silence befell the yard as the two men circled one another. Both of them had sweat streaming down their faces and though only Wyman appeared to breathe heavily, Aedan knew Zevran was just better at hiding it. The Antivan rogue suddenly sprang into action, battering Wyman with a flurry of his dual blades and the warrior only just pulled his shield into place. Well used to defending against twin blades, Wyman pushed forward instead of stepping back and forced Zevran into a defensive posture. Then he swung low with his sword, again, making Zevran react as the elf danced away from the blade. But Zevran spun in mid air as he leapt above the low sweep and he struck out with both blades as he turned and Wyman could only duck -neither his weapon nor his shield in the right position to parry. Zevran managed to get behind him and went for a crippling strike next. Wyman was already off balance and he staggered forward from the blow to his armoured legs and Zevran pressed his advantage, using a back stab, his blade screeching against the warrior's plated back.

From his knees Wyman held up a hand and conceded the match. Zevran stepped about him, and held out an arm which the captain gratefully accepted. After he regained his feet both men threw an arm over each other's shoulder and clapped one another on the back.

"One day, Zev, one day." Wyman shook his head ruefully.

Zevran laughed as he replied, "And then I will have to retire in shame!"

The Wardens broke for lunch and Aedan headed straight to his room, stopping to order bathing water along the way. He glanced about his room and keenly felt the absence of his wife. Not only were there clothes strewn everywhere, wrinkled and balled up, and books lying open across his desk and on the unmade bed, the room just didn't smell like her. There was no vibrancy in the air, no piles of ribbons or trinkets and only a few of her dresses were in the wardrobe and even those had been pushed to the back. He sighed and rubbed at the scar on his forehead. He needed to bathe and then clean up or she would do it for him and he didn't want to watch her to do that. He wanted to watch her do other things. Chuckling at the inevitable course of his thoughts, Aedan started picking up.

He fell asleep after his bath, across the newly made bed, and didn't awaken until Luke once again shook his shoulder.

"Aedan, they're nearly here!"

Aedan's heart pounded and he barely bothered fastening his boots properly before following his son into the corridor, to the end, and down the stairs to the main hall. Once they passed down the steps and out of the keep, they both broke into a jog until they reached the main gates. The advance scout stood there chatting with Wyman and his captain broke off to salute Aedan. "Commander. They should be here in half an hour."

Aedan glanced at Luke and saw his own feelings reflected perfectly in his son's face. They grinned and then laughed at one another, and then both looked toward the road. As they waited many of the Wardens gathered about the gates and assembled ready to greet the King of Ferelden.

The afternoon sunlight caught the armour of the approaching soldiers and Aedan's spirits soared. He fairly bounced on his feet until the King's guard marched into view, followed by Alistair, Brenna and Leliana. Each of the women held the hand of a young child and Aedan knew they must have only set them down recently to stretch their little legs. He beamed at the sight of his approaching family and started forward, stepping through the gate and into the middle of the road.

The Captain of the King's Guard saluted him. "Commander."

Aedan nodded a greeting to the man and waited for him and his soldiers to pass before turning to face Alistair. "Your Majesty," he said with a wide grin and Alistair answered in kind, "Commander." And then they hugged one another fiercely and exchanged many thumping pats on the back.

"It is good to see you, Brother."

"And you, Aedan. It has been too long."

Aedan could only nod his agreement to this. He turned to offer a greeting to Brenna, stooping to kiss her gently on the cheek. "Welcome to Vigil's Keep, Brenna. I hope your journey was pleasant."

"Thank you, Aedan." She smiled and patted him on the arm.

Then Aedan turned to his wife and caught his breath. Her beauty always stunned him, particularly when he had not seen her for a while. His memory constantly failed to do her justice. He did have paintings of her, but they didn't smell like her or sound like her, they were not Leliana. "Leli," he said, "Aedan," she answered and he drew her against him, hugging her first, and then kissing her until his head spun. They were interrupted by small hands tugging against his pants and pulling his lips from hers, Aedan looked down into two sweet faces.

Grinning, he stooped and scooped up his son first, kissing the round cheeks and then hugging him gently. "How is my little warrior?" He kissed the boy again and then handed him to Leliana before stooping down to pick up his daughter. "Here's my princess!" More kisses to round cheeks were followed by Grace's high pitched giggles.

A hand reached over his shoulder to tickle under Grace's chin and Aedan turned to hand the little girl to Luke, who took her in his arms with much enthusiasm. "Hello, Gracie," he murmured and he kissed her softly on the forehead. Then he put her down and stepped forward to claim his own hug from Leliana. Aedan looked at his family, his smile so wide it nearly hurt, and whispered a silent prayer, 'Maker, if you took me to your side right now, I might die a happy man.'

Alistair took a hold of Brenna's hand as he watched Aedan greet his family. Though he smiled at his friend's happiness and he appreciated the picture of the five Couslands arrayed before him, he couldn't help his traitorous thoughts. Why did Aedan have three children, four if you counted his child with Morrigan, and he and Brenna had yet to conceive one? But in the face of the day and the overwhelming joy of seeing his dearest friend, his Brother, once more, it was hard to hold onto any bitterness and Alistair let it go willingly.

Turning to his wife he brushed her cheek with his lips and whispered, "Come, my love. I am sure they have refreshment waiting for us inside."

Alistair turned and stepped forward to greet both Wyman and Philippe. The younger Wardens all crossed their arms in salute before stepping forward for their personal greetings, many of them remembering to call him by name. Alistair grinned and shook hands and grasped arms. He enjoyed visiting Vigil's Keep for the sense of camaraderie that swarmed around him; they made him feel he belonged. Though he was here this time on official business, they still treated him as a fellow Warden.

Everyone moved inside and as promised, refreshments were laid out for the travelers and the next couple of hours passed in a flurry of assigning quarters and small talk as everyone settled in. Alistair glanced about from time to time, but did not see Aedan, Leliana or their children. This wasn't unusual, the family often disappeared for the first couple of hours, Rory and Grace would become over excited by the atmosphere and Aedan and Leliana always liked the opportunity to catch up quietly and privately.

Hearing Brenna exclaim softly beside him he turned to find his wife had found Luke and drawn the young man into a hug. Alistair grinned as he noticed how Luke towered over Brenna, but his face still held most of its boyish charm. Alistair held out his arm and Luke grasped it firmly. Nodding his head he said in his soft voice, "Your Majesty."

"Alistair, Luke, please. You know better than that." Alistair grinned at Luke and resisted the urge to ruffle his hair. They now looked eye to eye, Luke was a man!

"Aedan and Leli will be down soon, they're settling the little ones down for a nap."

Alistair nodded. "How is your training coming along, have you beaten Zevran in a match yet?"

Luke grinned and shook his head. "No one has beaten Zevran in a match yet, though Runir would have us believe it is possible. I nearly beat Aedan today though."

Alistair laughed. "Glad to hear it!" And he was… he was glad to hear Aedan had been in the yard with his Wardens and not underground killing darkspawn for a change. "How long has he been at the Keep?"

"Two days. We didn't see much of him yesterday, paperwork and all that."

"Aedan and his sodding paperwork; he should have been an accountant, not a warrior." Alistair smiled to soften his words though and Luke took it as intended, a joke and not a slight.

The room slowly fell quiet around them and Alistair looked up to see Aedan paused in the doorway. The Warden Commander waited for silence before he spoke. "Let's eat!"

A cheer and lots of laughter greeted his lack of formality and the Wardens bustled past him to the dining hall. Aedan waited for Alistair and they walked side by side, Aedan pausing again to let him enter the large dining room first. Alistair stepped in and looked toward the head of the table where four chairs stood empty, one of them just a touch bigger, a little more ornate than the rest. He raised a brow and turned to Aedan. "You got me a fancy chair…"

Aedan winked. "How do you know that's not my chair?"

"Because, Brother, you take great delight in pointing out I am King." And he did. Aedan never missed an opportunity to tease him about his royal blood and role as King of Ferelden. It was an old, old joke between them, but one that stemmed from their first bond of friendship.

Aedan leaned over and whispered, "It's just a little bit bigger than mine and you are three inches shorter, you know. I can't be looming over the King at the dining table."

They chuckled at one another and taking their hands of their respective wives, moved toward the head of the table.

Dinner passed as it always did at Vigil's Keep, in a cacophony of noise and celebration as food and drink passed up and down the table time and again. It was a far cry from the sometimes stiffly formal dinners Alistair and Brenna hosted at the palace and the warm atmosphere made him smile and relax against the back of his chair, which despite its ornate scrollwork was actually quite comfortable.

Aedan tapped his arm and Alistair looked over at his friend. "Shall we begin?" Aedan enquired.

Alistair gave a small nod and Aedan pushed his chair back and rose to his feet. The Warden Commander only had to wait a few moments for silence and soon every face had turned toward him, lips sealed, faces showing respect.

"Gentleman, Ladies," and Aedan paused to reward his three female Wardens with special smiles, "please join me in welcoming your King and your Brother to Vigil's Keep." He raised his glass and everyone else followed suit.

After drinking their toast, Aedan gestured toward him and stepped back. Alistair rose to his feet and looked over the assembled Wardens. "As much as I enjoy spending time with my Brothers, this time I am here for a special purpose." His eyes alighted on one Warden in particular and every other person in the room followed his gaze. Nathaniel Howe smiled and dipped his head just a touch. Alistair noticed that both the archer's hands rested before him on the table cloth and that his fingers had curled in on themselves. He grinned and gestured him to his feet. "Nathaniel, if you would please stand."

The Warden rose and at his beckoning, walked to the head of the table.

Alistair turned and favoured the man with a warm smile. "Nathaniel Howe, for your service to Ferelden and for your tireless efforts in the restoration of Amaranthine, I hereby restore to you your family heritage." Turning to face the rest of the room he announced. "From this day forward, let it be known that Nathaniel Howe is the new Arl of Amaranthine with all the rights and privileges therein."

Although everyone knew the purpose of the visit and had expected the speech, the cheer that erupted was no less raucous or heartfelt. Alistair waited for Nathaniel and Aedan to exchange a hug, both of them murmuring quietly to one another and then grasped Nathaniel's arm and then pulled the man into another hug, murmuring, "Congratulations, Nate."

"Thank you, Alistair. I will serve you with honor and distinction."

"I know you will, Nate. I know you will."

Though he maintained his smile, Alistair quailed inside. Nathaniel Howe more than deserved this honor, to his mind, but the Landsmeet would not be happy at him putting yet another Grey Warden into a position of power.


	2. Fever

Fever

In the morning light Leliana watched Aedan sleep. While normally she enjoyed watching her love slumber, this morning she did so with sadness and apprehension curling within her. Aedan did not look well. While his greeting yesterday had been as joyous as always and the two quiet hours spent together with their children had been just as sweet and rewarding as the time before, it wasn't until after dinner, when she finally had him to herself that Leliana finally let her guard down and scrutinized the warrior she loved.

He was so pale! This should not have surprised her. Aedan had spent much of the past two and half years underground mapping the Deep Roads with the Legion and killing darkspawn. He had lost weight. While his lean form still held the musculature so familiar to her, she'd been able to feel almost all of his ribs and his cheeks looked gaunt. She knew he sometimes forgot to eat, despite the legendary Grey Warden appetite. Apparently he'd been forgetting more often lately than not. Finally, he looked so very tired. Deep shadows rested beneath his cool blue eyes and though they had made love last night, even in that he had been different.

He had held her so very gently as if he thought he might break her, and afterwards he had asked for a story as sometimes did. He had fallen sleep before she'd said more than ten words and he slept still now. Previously he might have stayed awake with her nearly all night as they made up for all the time they had missed together.

It near broke her heart to see him this way and she feared for him. If he kept on in this fashion he would fall before his time and leave her behind. It would be too soon, much too soon. Though she longed to touch him, she resisted temptation. He needed the sleep, and even if one morning alone would not be enough to restore him, it would be a start.

Rolling to her side, Leliana slipped out of bed and went to see if the children were awake. She paused before entering their room, composing her features, letting her lips curve into a happy smile.

Riordan and Grace played on the floor together, already awake as they usually were, and they both looked up with smiles.

Leliana crouched between them and her heart lifted at their sweet faces and their sunny smiles. "Good morning, my lovelies. Shall we go down to the kitchen? I think the cook will have special treats for you!" The cook always had treats, whether she baked them for her Wardens for especially for the children, Leliana never knew, but she enjoyed visiting the kitchens at the keep.

"Morning, Leliana!" Alice sang out as soon as they entered the kitchens and she immediately descended upon the children, lifting them both in her strong arms.

"Good morning, Alice." Leliana smiled warmly at the cook and watched her as she indulged the children in hugs and sweet treats.

"Why don't you leave them with me for a while this morning and spend some more time with that Warden of yours," Alice suggested with a sly look and Leliana laughed softly.

"Alright, I'll be back a bit later. Rory, Gracie, be good for Alice." She bent to kiss her children and left the kitchen. She did not go back upstairs, however, instead she wandered toward Philippe's office, wondering if Aedan's second would be up and about this early. He was.

Philippe maintained a small office that more resembled a comfortable sitting room. He didn't handle much paperwork and used the room mostly for meeting with the other Wardens and recruits and for his own quiet contemplation. Leliana enjoyed the atmosphere of his office, he had added personal touches and his furniture was comfortable. Aedan's office always felt cluttered and cramped in comparison. The Orlesian Warden looked up as she paused in the doorway and he stepped forward to greet her, kissing her on both cheeks in a way that reminded her of her youth in Val Royeaux. "Leliana, you look lovely this morning as always."

Leliana grinned at him; Philippe always told her she looked lovely, it was his way. "Hello Philippe."

"What brings you downstairs so early, hm?" He raised a brow at her.

"I wanted to talk with you about Aedan."

Philippe paused, sighed and turned, gesturing for Leliana to take a seat in one of the two overstuffed chairs. "I should have known you'd want to have this conversation sooner rather than later, Leliana."

Leliana barely bothered settling herself before she launched right in. "Philippe, he's killing himself. I thought you were going to talk him out of going down to the Deep Roads with the last expedition."

"I tried, Leliana, believe me, I tried. He is obsessed. You know this. He has been this way ever since the architect." Though Leliana nodded in acknowledgement of Philippe's words, she knew it had started earlier – with Luke becoming tainted. She sighed heavily enough that she fell back into the chair and contemplated her hands. Why wouldn't he forgive himself? Philippe continued, "It is like a fever with him, or perhaps a crusade. Sometimes I think he means to kill every darkspawn himself."

Biting her lip, Leliana tried to remain calm, crying in front of Philippe, no matter how sympathetic he would be, would not solve her problems. "He looks so tired, Philippe, so utterly exhausted. Does he sleep?"

Philippe looked away from her and Leliana sat forward in her chair. What did he seek to hide from her? "What is it? What are you keeping from me?"

"Now that the arling is no longer his responsibility, he will get more sleep."

"Philippe, tell me what else is going on. I have to know." Leliana could hear the pleading tone in her voice and for once she did not regret it, not if it would convince Philippe to divulge this secret.

"He is losing his control, Leliana. Three weeks ago we discovered another laboratory on the far side of the Frostback Mountains and it set him off all over again. He went into one of his berserk rages and I had to… subdue him. He has barely slowed down since. This is why he is sending me to Orlais. It would appear the roads head in that direction as well." Philippe paused and licked his lips. "Leliana, I'll be honest with you, I do not want to go, but he insists on sending me, he says I must visit with my family." The Orlesian spread his hands. "Which is all well and good, but they are grown now, they hardly need me. I think he is sending me away so I will stop hovering over him."

The thought of Aedan alone, but for his Wardens, in the Deep Roads without Philippe broke her resolve. Leliana buried her face in her hands and murmured, "Oh, Aedan." She heard Philippe rise and walk toward her and felt his hand rest on her shoulder. She lifted her head. "Philippe, you can't go, he'll be lost without you." But as she said the words she realised how very unfair they were. Philippe was not Aedan's keeper. She placed her hand over his and patted softly. "I'm sorry, Philippe, forgive me. He relies on you too much. We both do. I should be thanking you for watching him so well."

"He is as a son to me Leliana, you know this. I could do little else but watch over him, keep him." Philippe paused, a thoughtful look stealing across his face. "Talk with Alistair. I was to accompany him to Orlais; perhaps he could convince Aedan to go in my stead." He shrugged lightly. "I know it would again take him from your side, but he would be above ground, and so far as I know, there are no darkspawn in Val Royeaux."

Tilting her head to the side, Leliana considered Philippe's words. Though she would miss her beloved Warden, this was nothing new. She missed him all the time. At least he would have the opportunity for a break, and he'd be trapped on a ship for near a week with nothing to do but eat and sleep. She almost smiled at the thought. "But your family, Philippe…"

He patted her shoulder again. "They will keep. Besides, you are my family too, and you both need me more right now."

--=0=--

The day had advanced far when Aedan finally awoke and he blinked in astonishment at the angle of the sun. Rolling his head to the side he saw Leliana was absent. Of course, she did not have the leisure of lying about all day as he apparently did. He wondered if she was with Riordan and Grace. Sadness and guilt flooded him and he grimaced a moment as he wrestled for control of his emotions. He'd wanted to wake up with her watching his eyes as she did, to see her smiling face… and now he'd missed hours of time with her and with his children.

Throwing back the covers, Aedan got out of bed and pulled on a pair of pants and shirt from the folded pile on his bureau. She had picked up his clothes from last night. Aedan sighed and bent to his boots.

When he stepped into the hall a young recruit was standing guard at his door. He stood to attention and saluted him. "Commander."

"Hello Brian. Did Leli ask you to stand here?"

"She did. I have several messages for you. The King wants to see you first, I think."

Aedan accepted the folded slips of paper and clapped the young man on the shoulder. "Thank you. You may go back to the yard or lunch, or whatever it is you're supposed to be doing at this time of day." Aedan grinned at his own confusion and Brian smiled back, mumbling a quick, "Yes, Commander," before disappearing down the hall in the opposite direction.

Although he felt the faint stirrings of hunger, he always felt the faint stirrings of hunger, Aedan went straight to his office. He knew Alistair would be there. The King sat behind his desk and was flicking through some of the papers he had there. Aedan didn't mind, most of it would have been sent to Alistair eventually anyway. His friend looked up as he entered the room and gave him a thoughtful look before smiling. "You've emerged at last."

"I have." Aedan flopped into one of the easy chairs set before his desk and crossed his legs. "So, which ones have you read and which ones do you want to talk about." He nodded to indicate the various reports spread across the desk.

Alistair stood up and moved to the small table set beneath the window and picked up a plate and handed it to him. "Here, eat this and we'll get started."

Aedan raised his brows, but accepted the plate of sandwiches and selecting one, started chewing as Alistair started talking.

"This laboratory, the one in Orlais, that makes three you've discovered in the last two and a half years." Alistair knitted his brows. "But you have described this one differently. What made it different from the others, say, the original architect's for instance?"

Aedan swallowed drily over his mouthful. His pulse quickened and he put the plate aside and leaned forward in his chair. "The accommodations were less primitive for a start. There were actual chambers that looked like bedrooms. And the lighting, it was far brighter." He shuddered. "The lighting has been brighter in each successive location. I think they are trying to accustom their eyes to daylight."

Aedan stood and started pacing up and down the confines of his office. "They're evolving, or trying to, there were books and eating utensils!" He knew his voice had risen, but he could feel the familiar fever singing in his blood, the outrage over the extent of the changes in the darkspawn and the overwhelming evidence the architect had only been a harbinger of things to come. "We might find villages of them and we won't be able to tell the difference between the tainted and the born."

Alistair stepped to his side and put a hand on his arm, halting his progress across the room. "You cleaned them out though, right, and dismantled the equipment?"

Aedan turned to face Alistair and said as levelly as he could, "But there will be more. There are always more." Feeling his purpose again he gestured the maps on his desk and continued, "We've finished mapping from here to Orlais, but we've barely even started on the south. I plan to head there soon, just after I see Philippe off to Val Royeaux with you." He stepped to the desk and began flicking through his piles of correspondence. "Here it is… these are the working agreements we have with the Legion of the Dead. Orlais may need to forge their own ties with the dwarves though."

Alistair took the papers out of his hands and glanced at them before putting them aside. "I want you to come to Val Royeaux with me, Aedan. Send Philippe to the south."

"What? No, I need to go to the south. There will be more of these laboratories, I know it. What if Denerim were overrun with this tainted filth?"

"Philippe can take care of it. Aedan, I'm asking you as a friend, as a Brother. I want you to come to Orlais, take some time away from the Deep Roads. You'll still be on Grey Warden business."

Aedan blinked at him, realization slowly dawning. "You've been talking to Philippe, haven't you?"

"No, Aedan, I have not."

"Then why would you ask me this? Why take me away from my duty here, from my family? Philippe has a right to see his family too."

Alistair frowned. "How often have you seen your family lately, Aedan? You spend your life underground. You need to come up for air."

Aedan couldn't help feeling persecuted. What right did Alistair have to talk to him this way? This was his job, his duty! He was a Grey Warden, this is what he did! "I am the Warden Commander, Alistair. I make the decisions."

"And I am your King, Aedan, lest you forget. I can order you out of Ferelden if I have to."

Aedan stared at his friend opened mouthed. He drew in a breath and then let it out again, stunned by his words. "Why, Alistair, why is it so important that I go with you?"

"Because you need a break. We are worried about you… look at you! Your clothes hang from your shoulders, you never look rested. The darkspawn will still be here when you get back."

We? "Who is 'we'? Who have you been talking to?" Aedan looked his King directly in the eyes and repeated himself. "Who?" Was it Wyman, Zevran, Nate?

"Your wife. You're breaking her heart."

Aedan felt as if the breath had been knocked out of him. Leliana wanted to send him away? He took a step backwards and stumbled into the chair behind him. He dropped his hand to the upholstered arm to steady himself and then turning, strode out of the room. He felt the familiar ring of blood in his ears as he strode through the keep looking or Leliana. He knew he was upset and hoped that the walking would calm him before he saw her. Reaching for the mental exercises Alistair had taught him five years ago beneath Orzammar, Aedan fought for control of his emotions. He knew he'd been slipping lately, but Maker, he was just so tired all the time.

He found Leliana in the rose garden that fronted the terrace outside the dining room. It had been her idea to have it planted and she often spent time there when she visited. She sat alone with her harp and looked up at the crunch of his feet upon the gravel. Aedan strode up to her and he saw the apprehension in her eyes as he approached. He knew his own expression must be anguished, he could feel pull of his brows. He stopped before her and said, "Why would you send me away?"

Leliana put aside her harp and patted the bench gingerly, indicating he should sit. He did, and then turned to face her, searching her eyes for an answer to his question. When she spoke, her voice was soft, but steady. "You know why, Aedan."

He did. Of course he knew. Why did he need to hear her say it? He felt the compulsion rising in him again, the irrational fear that Ferelden would be overrun with tainted villagers and talking darkspawn if he stepped away for even one day and he looked at her pleadingly. "It's what I do, Leli. I do it for you, and for all Ferelden. I have to go to the south."

"Aedan, you cannot fight darkspawn when you are sick or if," she hesitated, "you are dead. You need a break. Even Kings take holidays; you send your Wardens home to their families all the time."

Aedan flushed with guilt. The Wardens with families saw their loved ones more often than he did lately. "I'll come to Denerim more often..."

"You won't. You will enter the Deep Roads and lose the days again."

A fist squeezed his heart. Part of him wanted to spring to his feet and stride away from her in anger, but deep down he knew she only spoke the truth. He gazed at her lovely face and regretted the crease in her forehead, he had put that there. Lifting a finger, he smoothed it and murmured, "I'm sorry, Leli. I don't mean to make you sad. I just want you to be safe."

She didn't reply, merely looked at him with that sadness in her eyes and so he leaned against the back of the bench and closing his eyes, sat silently beside her, alternately fighting his despair and drawing strength from her quiet presence. One month, he'd be away for only one month. Without opening his eyes he finally whispered, "Alright, I'll go."


	3. The Plan

The Plan

Alistair watched Brenna play with Rory and Grace with a bemused grin. He didn't feel the tug of jealousy so much today; he simply enjoyed watching his wife interact with the two young children. Rory was three and a half and Grace only six months younger, but smaller, much more delicate. The boy resembled Aedan, eerily so, and the little girl was a delight with her blonde curls and grey eyes, she would be a beauty when she grew up. Alistair's smile turned somewhat wistful as he pictured a little girl with Brenna's dark, silken hair and forest green eyes. He dared not picture a son; it just felt too much like tempting fate.

Turning his attention from the children, Alistair studied his wife and his smile widened as his heart lightened. She brought him such joy. Not only was she a worthy queen, but a wonderful wife and companion. When the situation called for it, she could bring her noble upbringing to bear, but underneath it all she was such a warm person. Ferelden loved her as he did. But what he loved about her most was her unwavering support for his rule, his newer ideas and plans, and his need to connect with people on their own level. She believed in him, as a husband and a king, yes, but also as a man.

Brenna must have sensed her watching him and she smiled and waved before turning her attention back to the children. They were watching Rory and Grace while Aedan and Leliana spent some time alone. Aedan would be accompanying them to Orlais in the morning. He knew his friend was not happy the trip still, but he was putting a brave face on it and trying to be grudgingly optimistic. In his typical fashion Aedan had turned his fervor upon his new project and had already drafted new plans and charts for the Orlesian Wardens and sketched out how they might arrive at terms with the Legion of the Dead as the Ferelden Grey Wardens had done in order to undertake the massive project of mapping and clearing the Deep Roads. He knew that Aedan recognised deep down he'd never complete such a task in his own lifetime, but that didn't seem to stop him from trying.

Alistair shook his head and sighed. In his own way, Aedan exemplified the reasons a Warden should not have a wife or a family with his distraction and extended absences, and yet he claimed fervently that he did it all for Leliana, Rory and Grace and especially for Luke. It seemed his Brother would never get over what he had done to his eldest son.

"What has you looking so pensive?" Brenna crouched before him and touched her fingers to his cheek and lifting his hands to hers, he brought her fingers to his lips.

Smiling at her, his features clearing as he made light of this thoughts, he answered, "A king should look pensive, love, I have the affairs of all Ferelden on my mind!"

Brenna smiled and sat beside him and the two young children sat with them. Rory looked slyly at Alistair and pronounced, "Mummy said you'd tell us a story."

Alistair threw back his head and laughed. He could just picture the mischief on his chancellor's face as she gave her son that specific instruction. He heard Grace's squealing giggles and it made him laugh harder, the little girl laughed whenever anyone else did, she was always so happy. It made him very glad; not only did her cheerfulness testify to Leliana's warm and generous nature as a mother but it tended to indicate Grace had not been scarred by her first six months of life. Glancing at Brenna he shrugged and asked, "Perhaps you have one to share?"

"Oh, no, Alistair, I think you are our designated story teller today." She grinned at him and he scowled in mock indignation.

"Alright, shall I tell you about what I have planned for my next treaty?"

Rory's brows drew together in consternation and Grace giggled. "Is that a cake?" she asked.

Brenna poked him on the arm and he waggled his brows at her. "I keep trying to tell everyone I'm a king; I have important things on my mind!"

Rory piped up, "Tell us a king story then!" and Grace clapped her hands. Brenna smiled indulgently.

So he told them of Calenhad the Great, first King of Ferelden. Both children listened with rapt attention though towards the end Grace's eyelids began to droop and by the time he had finished she had succumbed and lay curled in Brenna's lap. Rory had started to blink and sway and as he finally dropped, Alistair chuckled at his wife. "I am obviously not as skilled as Leliana."

Brenna smiled and clasped his hand. "You told it beautifully, love. It's their nap time is all… that they stayed awake so long is testament to your story telling."

Alistair grinned. "Good, I've a feeling I'll need to spin some tales at the Landsmeet when we return from Orlais."

Brenna smiled softly. "You know those who are important will support you. Never fear." She idly stroked Grace's curls, a thoughtful expression on her face and then looked up once more. "Tell me, is it vitally important that we go to Orlais with Aedan?"

"Well, for his sake, to make sure he gets on the sodding ship, yes. But do you mean politically, not really, it is to be a social visit more than anything else, and a chance to meet Celene's new advisor." This would be the third new advisor in as many years with which the Orlesian Empress had sought to replace Bertram. The first had walked away, never to be seen again and the second had been assassinated. Alistair hoped she had better fortune with the third. He cocked a brow at Brenna. "Why?"

"I've been thinking," she said with a quiet laugh. "Are you worried yet?"

Alistair chuckled and reached over to brush her cheek. "Should I be?" He didn't think he should be, Brenna usually had wonderful ideas. Her latest project had children from the orphanage in the alienage mixing with the orphans at the Chantry in Denerim. They were learning together and though there had been growing pains as in any new initiative, the program showed great promise. Anything to promote racial tolerance was a good thing, Alistair thought.

"Why don't we send Leliana with Aedan instead? Celene respects them both greatly, and I think they make a suitable substitute for us. I think we tend to forget he is a Teyrn, it's not as though we'd be sending a commoner in our place. Not that Celene would mind, you know how fascinated she is with the 'Hero of Ferelden'." Brenna chuckled.

It was what she didn't say that captured Alistair's imagination however -- Aedan and Leliana would have the chance to spend more than four days together. They probably hadn't had more than four days together in over a year. "I like all your ideas, Brenna, but this one I love!" he exclaimed and he leaned forward to kiss her soundly. "You have such a generous nature." Then he glanced down at the curly head in Brenna's lap. "But what of their children? I'm not sure they are ready for such a voyage…"

"We would keep them with us. They would be gone a month at most." Brenna paused for thought before adding, "I am sure Luke would come to Denerim for a month, particularly if _you_ asked him to."

Alistair did not miss the emphasis on 'you'. He knew Luke looked up to him as he did Aedan and while flattered by the young man's attitude, he still found it amusing at times. There was someone who believed he was a king! Alistair chuckled at his thoughts and scratched his chin thoughtfully. "I think he would, and you know, I think not only would he relish the extra time with his brother and sister, but he'd understand why we asked."

"Yes, he would. It's a plan then?"

Alistair grinned and kissed the tip of his wife's nose. "It's a plan!"

--=0=--

Leliana watched Aedan stuffing shirts into his pack and bit back a smile. Her fingers itched to fold them for him, but she knew it to be a useless gesture. Her husband could wrinkle clothes simply by looking at them and he seemed to prefer them that way. He looked up and smiled at her. Though it would take more than four days to restore colour to his cheeks and flesh to his frame, the shadows had started to retreat and his eyes sparkled in the early morning light. "What has you smiling, love?" he said.

"You."

"Are you thinking about me naked?" He winked at her.

Leliana laughed. "Aedan! You are incorrigible. _The Blazing Sun_ will leave without us if we don't hurry." She wished they did have time, it had been such a busy morning already and the sun had barely risen, but it made her happy to see him so lighthearted. She couldn't deny the nervousness she felt at leaving her children alone for the first time, not that she didn't trust Brenna, Alistair and Luke to look out for them.

"You are always putting others before yourself, Leliana, just as Aedan does. Please let us do this for you both," Brenna had finally said and Leliana had quietly acquiesced.

Brenna's words had rung very true and her heart had leapt at the thought of a month, an entire month alone with Aedan, but looking at him now she suddenly felt shy. What would they do together for an entire month? What would they talk about? They had not been alone for that long for over a year and he had changed so much lately. Aedan creased his brows in concern and putting his pack aside crossed to her and took her in his arms.

"You're not going to change your mind are you? I won't go without you." His tone teased, but she knew he probably meant his words. He bent to kiss her, but as usual they were interrupted by the tug of small hands. Lifting his lips from hers he murmured, "Just think, a whole month of uninterrupted kisses awaits us."

Leliana giggled and stooped to pick up Grace as he collected Rory. Luke stepped through the doorway, his face lit with a happy grin. Brenna had happily reported that the young man had said yes to the plan even before Alistair had finished laying it out. Leliana suddenly blinked back a tear. She felt so loved! She beckoned to her eldest son and pulled him to her side. She could no longer reach his forehead so she settled for a kiss to his cheek. "Thank you Luke, a thousand times, thank you."

He flushed and made a dismissive gesture with his hand and reached to take Grade from her arms. "Come along princess, mummy needs to help daddy fold his shirts." He grinned and winked at the pair of them and taking Rory's hand as Aedan put him down, retreated with both children.

Leliana turned to Aedan and she could feel the tears on her cheeks now. "Luke is truly a blessing."

Aedan nodded soberly, his voice quiet. "I know." He wrapped his arms around her once more and simply held her close.

##

A large party accompanied them to the port of Amaranthine, the King and Queen, both Senior Wardens, the entire northern patrol and Zevran. If the Western patrol hadn't already left to resume their duty, Leliana had no doubt they would be here too. The Wardens loved their Commander; there was no other word for it. She knew the men preferred words such as Brother and Comrade, but she could see the bond between them all. They shed blood together, side by side, day after day and year after year. A bond of trust existed between these men that few would ever experience. And so she knew they all were as relieved as she that Aedan would be setting foot on _The Blazing Sun_ today, and taking his well deserved break.

The ship was every bit as lovely as she remembered, though her last voyage upon it had been less than pleasant. Pushing aside past memories, Leliana turned to embrace her children one last time. They were excited by the atmosphere and the sight of the docks, and she felt a small tug on her heart as she imagined what they might think when she didn't tuck them in to bed tonight. She had tried to explain that she'd be away, just like their father, but not for very long, and that Luke would be with them, but she had no way of knowing just how a three year old mind would process this information. What she did know was that she would be leaving her children with people that loved them as she did, and who would care for them just as she might have. She trusted Alistair, Brenna and Luke implicitly, but there is a bond between mother and child…

"Leliana, I won't tell you not to worry… you're a mother," Brenna began, laying a hand on her shoulder. "But know there isn't anything we wouldn't do."

Leliana blinked at the young woman, caught by the uncanny match of their thoughts, and then she smiled. She hoped Brenna would have her own child soon, she really did. Perhaps she could think of this month as a gift to her too, a chance to experience what she had. She hugged her friend and said again, "Thank you."

Aedan had Alistair in a fierce hug and Leliana smiled at the pair. They had been wary of each other after the day Aedan had found her in the rose garden, but in the way of men, they had taken their tension to the yard and beat it out of each other and emerged Brothers once more. As they parted she noticed Alistair hand a small rolled parchment to her husband and move to whisper in his ear. Aedan's eyes widened and then he smiled and nodded. Her curiosity flared, but she drew her eyes away, Aedan would tell her what it was, she felt sure of it.

Next they were surrounded by multiple Wardens and Leliana found herself hugged and kissed and patted more times than she could count. Finally they and were allowed to board the ship. Marin and Runir followed them. They were to have accompanied Philippe and she could see they were just as happy to travel with their Commander. Marin had family in Orlais, a sister and her children. Runir had volunteered for the journey as he'd been due a break.

Captain Reginald stood to attention on deck with his crew and as she remembered, the ship gleamed in perfection, from the brass buttons on the crew's uniforms to the fittings and deck boards themselves. He stepped forward and bowed, calling them 'my lord' and 'my lady' and Aedan turned to her with a wide grin. He had about as much affection for titles as she had – none. But they let it pass, they knew the captain would call them that the entire voyage whether they protested or not. A young steward took them below to their stateroom, and Leliana recognised it as the very one Alistair had occupied on their last voyage. The floors, walls and ceilings were all made of wood, golden in colour, and they gleamed in the sunlight that slanted through the small, high windows. The furniture too was wooden and exquisitely made, and a blazing sun motif had been embroidered into the drapes about the bed and the large number of pillows placed on the bed, the chairs and the couch.

Aedan took her hand as they went back up to join Marin and Runir on the deck to wave goodbye to their friends and family and Leliana squeezed his fingers. Excitement stirred her now, they had done it, they were on the ship and they would be together for an entire month. She bounced on her toes, not quite able to suppress her joy and Aedan turned toward her with a wide smile. He bent to kiss her forehead and whispered softly, "When you are happy, I am happy."

Everyone still stood on the dock and all waved enthusiastically at the four of them. Marin and Runir called farewells out across the water and laughed and clapped one another on the back before heading toward the bow of the ship, both of them eager to see where they were going. Leliana and Aedan stayed at the rail until they could no longer distinguish the faces of their friends and loved ones. The sea breeze touched her cheeks and Leliana felt the wetness on them. She reached to wipe away her tears but Aedan beat her to it. He captured her hand, kissed it, and then bent to kiss her cheeks, her nose and her lips. He seemed so much like his old self at that moment that she shed more tears and he pulled away to regard her in concern.

"Are you alright?"

"I am, I just…" she glanced toward the shore and realised she could no longer even distinguish the shapes of her children and she clutched at the rail. She should be happy, why did she feel so sad? "I'll miss them, I already do."

"I know. It's how I feel each and every time we part."

And for some reason, this made her cry more. Aedan gathered her in his arms and he held her close and she clung to him as she had not done in some time. He whispered against her ear, "Thank you for coming with me. I love you, Leli."

"I love you, Aedan."


	4. The Blazing Sun

The Blazing Sun

Aedan enjoyed their first day at sea. He and Leliana spent the rest of the morning on the deck, leaning over the rail same rail as they watched the docks, Amaranthine, and finally Ferelden slip beyond the horizon. They talked a little, of inconsequential things, he pointing out a sea bird, Leliana describing the shape of a cloud in a whimsical fashion. Aedan held her hand or had his arm about her waist the entire time. There was no tug of little hands on his pants and no recruits running up to him with messages. The only sound was the cry of wheeling gulls, the swish of the ocean, the flap of the sails and his beloved's voice. He gained a sense of peace he'd not felt in a very long time.

They retired to their stateroom for lunch and Aedan smiled good naturedly at Leliana as she passed him this and that, encouraging him to eat. He ate to please her, and because he was hungry, and then the tiredness caught up with him again. When in the Deep Roads or on the highway, he could walk it out, this endless fatigue. But sitting in a warm cabin, surrounded by the amber glow of polished wood, his belly full of rich food, he couldn't fight it.

He rose and took her hand, lifting her to her feet. "Will you watch me sleep, love?"

"I will." Leliana smiled and stretched out beside him on the bed and he drifted off watching her face. She was there when he awoke, though she had a book at her side, and he smiled sleepily at her. A month of this, he had a whole month of this to look forward to.

He nodded toward the book. "What are you reading?"

Leliana held it up so he could read the spine. "It is Alistair's book and I think he will be pleased to recover it, Eamon gave it to him as a gift when he sailed to Orlais for the first time. I think you might find it an interesting read too, it's a history of Orlesian politics."

Though she smiled, Aedan saw the shadow in her eyes. "That's when he came after you, right?"

Leliana nodded. Aedan drew her into a close hug, then letting her go he kissed her forehead.

"Alistair is a good friend. Better than I deserve." Glancing down at the book he put a hand on it. "I will read it, and then we'll give it back to him. I think he'd like to have something of Eamon's." He leaned forward to kiss her on the nose before saying, "I should get up before I take yet another nap!"

Leliana laughed and hopped off the bed and he took her hand and led her out into the afternoon sunlight. They spent the afternoon in the company of Runir and Marin. The two Wardens regaled Leliana with stories of their travels before they had come to Ferelden and she looked delighted to be the listener for a change. Aedan liked both men and though he'd heard many of their stories before – there is little other entertainment in the Deep Roads – he found himself following along again, laughing when things were funny and nodding thoughtfully when they were not.

Captain Reginald issued an invitation for them to dine with him and though Aedan would have liked nothing better than to spend the entire evening in the stateroom with his wife, he politely accepted. He didn't even blink when Leliana handed him an appropriately fussy shirt, he was in the mood to please her and he enjoyed her stunned look when he took it and donned it without question.

"You do realise you're wearing a fussy shirt."

He winked at her. "You can rip it off me later if you like, then we'll be even."

Leliana laughed and tugged his collar straight before pressing a kiss to his lips. "It's a deal."

Aedan took her hand and kissed all of her fingers before bending down to kiss her lips, softly and then more insistently, wrapping his arms around her. When they were both breathless he finally drew back and said in a hoarse whisper, "We should leave now, before we get carried away."

Leliana chuckled and taking her hand once more, Aedan reluctantly led her from their room.

Dinner turned out to be an enjoyable occasion. Reginald had captained The Blazing Sun for over twenty years and had many entertaining stories. Between him and his steward, the three Wardens and Leliana the conversation never faltered. When it was his turn to tell a tale Aedan tried to keep it lighthearted and chuckled inside as he realised his most of his cheerful stories came from the year they had quested to defeat the Blight.

Aedan normally didn't drink spirits. He reserved the consumption of stronger alcohol for when he needed to feel numb – a sensation adequately provided for by lack of sleep over the past year or so. But he sipped wine with dinner and then joined the captain in a brandy afterwards, and then a second as Reginald's pipe came out. Curiously, he didn't become numb at all. In fact he almost felt as if his senses had been sharpened and he could not take his eyes off his wife.

She looked beautiful. Leliana always looked lovely, but the glow of the lanterns reflected by the polished amber coloured wood that decorated the entire interior of the ship lent a honeyed glow to her skin. Add the flush of two glasses of wine and the sparkle of excitement to her eyes and she looked radiant. He had a month, a whole month by her side. Leliana caught his eye and smiled and he realised the room had fallen silent. Glancing up, he noted everyone looked at him. "Hm?" he said.

The group broke into laughter and he chuckled along before standing up and saying, "I think that means I've had enough to drink. Goodnight gentlemen." He nodded to the captain, the steward and the two Wardens before holding his arm out to Leliana and escorting her from the salon. As they stepped outside he leaned close to her and whispered in her ear, "I think it's time to take care of this fussy shirt."

He found the second day at sea less enjoyable. Leliana seemed more subdued and he knew she thought of the children. For himself, he felt restless. He roamed their stateroom for a while, picking up objects and putting them down before announcing his intention to take a walk.

Leliana followed him quietly and he knew she sensed his need to pace, that he wouldn't be talkative. He resolved to walk out his anxiety as quickly as possible so he could converse with her. When they first stepped out on the deck the high wind whipped the breath from his lips and momentarily distracted him from his thoughts. Going to the rail he leaned out and studied the ocean, becoming lost in the shapes forming and melting as the wind ruffled the choppy water. But as he stood still his thoughts eventually caught up with him and he lifted his eyes to the horizon. He couldn't see the land, but he knew it was there and his hands tightened on the rail as he envisaged what he was missing – the journey south, the continued effort to rid Ferelden of the darkspawn threat.

The fever gripped him then and pushing from the rail he strode toward the bow and then down the other side of the ship. Leliana walked at his side. Crew greeted them cordially on their first and second circuits before merely nodding or looking away on the third and fourth. He could feel Leliana's presence beside him. The crew all ignored them on the fifth and sixth circuits. Then ship wasn't long enough and he started to feel trapped on the deck and found himself gripping the railing again, his breath panting slightly from his exertions, his heart pounding with anxiety. At a light touch on his arm he turned and saw Leliana standing there, Marin at her side.

"Commander?"

"Mm." He couldn't get more than that out right then, he was wrestling with his control, trying for his focus.

"The captain says we can work out below decks, in the empty hold, they have practice weapons. Will you join us?" The expressions on the warrior's and his wife's face suggested he should join them and Aedan nodded and followed them down to the large space. Runir was already there and handed him two wooden practice blades. A ship wasn't the best place to don armour and pick up sharp objects. The familiar feel of hilts in his hands brought Aedan back to himself and he nodded and then turned to his wife with a smile. Due to the wind she had dressed in the linen leggings and tunic she often wore beneath her armour and she'd picked out a pair of blades for herself. "Shall we?"

Leliana smiled a true smile in return and they exercised together, something they had not done in many months. She had obviously kept herself in form whilst in Denerim and he whistled at her quick strikes and firm parries. Though a bow was her preferred weapon, she had a deft way with her blades many would envy. The four of them trained and sparred until they all dripped with sweat and his mind had cleared.

Aedan put aside his weapons and drew Leliana into a quick hug and over her head said to their companions, "Do I not have a formidable wife?" He laughed and kissed her hair as Marin and Runir made appreciative noises.

The four of them sat in a row against the curved hull of the ship and Aedan quietly thanked them for the session before turning and raising a brow towards Runir. "So Luke tells me you say it is possible to win against Zevran in a match. Did I miss it while I was away, or does he remain undefeated?"

Runir chuckled, "You did not miss it. And his legendary status has only made the elf more cocky!"

The four of them laughed at this. Marin added, "He is just so sodding fast! I'd say he cheats, but I have no idea how he does it."

Runir put in, "There is only one I know who can defeat him, his brother, Juilden. They make a formidable pair."

The four of them nodded soberly and then Aedan stood up, took his wife's hand and made his excuses. It was time for a nap.

Aedan found the third day at sea difficult. The high wind brought a storm in the early hours of the morning and it raged all day, shutting them inside their cabins. At first he tried to read the book Leliana had found. He did well for an hour or so, Leliana curled by his side composing a melody on her harp. But his mind wandered and so he pulled out his charts and maps and started studying those. Of course, as soon as he turned his thoughts to darkspawn, his pulse quickened. Aedan reached for the templar techniques and focused his mind. But after another hour he merely stared at the charts, not really seeing them as he played over previous events in his mind, the last laboratory in particular. He didn't notice his hands had curled around the edge of the table or that his knuckles had turned white. He didn't feel the way his breath had caught until Leliana tapped him on the shoulder.

"Aedan."

She had to repeat herself before he could pull back and look up. Her forehead creased in concern when she saw his face.

He stood up and moved to the door, glancing back as he put his hand on the knob. "I have to walk."

"Talk to me instead."

But he couldn't, he could feel the compulsion to move and it felt as if the walls of their generous stateroom were closing in upon him. He wrenched open the door and tried to stride down the hall, but the ship rocked and he stumbled against the wall instead. Moving along the wall he made it to the stairs and clung to the rail as he pulled himself upwards. A crew member stood at the top.

"I'd advise you not to go out there, my lord."

Aedan ignored him and made for the door.

The young man followed, his expression both confused and concerned. "You must remain inside, for your own safety."

Aedan pressed his nose to the circle of glass and looked out. He could barely see beyond the ship but he could feel the roll of it and see the ocean rising and falling at the sides. A few sailors with ropes about their waist did little more than keep an eye on things while clinging to their stations. Aedan put hand on the knob and the young man cleared his throat and put a hand on his arm. "Ser…"

Aedan wanted to yell, but even in his agitated state he could see that the deck was not safe. He turned and made his way to the hold instead. The hold, while large enough to spar, did not provide an adequate length for his pacing. He walked in short circles, but only became more aggravated. The confines of the ship only heightened his lack of activity. He should be traveling south, he should be killing darkspawn. Spying the practice swords from the day before he picked two up and tried to move through his forms, but his concentration faltered, he had no target. He needed something to fight.

The roll of the ship only added to his frustration, he kept losing his footing and after he hit the curved far wall for the fifth time he yelled and cursed.

"Aedan!"

He looked to find Leliana standing in the doorway, both hands on the frame to brace herself. When she saw she had his attention she made her way across to him and took his face in both her hands.

"Talk to me, please?" He tried to pull away but she wouldn't let go. "Why are you so angry?"

"I don't know!" He realised he'd yelled when he saw her flinch and she dropped her hands. Dropping the wooden blades he reached for her hands and shaking his head voiced his exact thoughts. "Leli, I truly don't know, I can't remember any more."

The ship bucked and they both stumbled and fell against the wall, sliding into sitting positions on the floor. Aedan felt as if the breath had been knocked from him and when he reached for his anger, it had started to fade. It wasn't just about Luke any more, he knew that. He wasn't totally blind to what he had become, he recognised his obsession. But he didn't know how to stop. Turning toward Leliana he said more softly, "All I do know is that I need the anger to keep going. Otherwise I might collapse in a heap and then Ferelden would be without her Warden Commander."

"Would that be such a bad thing?"

He blinked at her. "Yes!"

"Aedan, Ferelden has nearly three dozen Wardens and in the last six years you have accomplished more for your country that most men could hope to do in their life time. Do you really want to do this for the rest of your life?"

"I…" he had been about to say, 'I have to', but he stopped. "No, I don't," he said quietly before he even realised the words had left his mouth. Although fighting the darkspawn gave him purpose, the thought of returning to the Deep Roads now, right at this moment as he sat here with his anger fading, repulsed him, fatigued him. He'd never be done with it, he would never kill them all and he would die down there having missed what time he might have spent with his wife and children. Drawing his brows together he said, "But what else would I do?"

All he knew how to do was kill darkspawn.

He saw something in her eyes then, a light he recognised, and he realised he'd asked the exact question she'd hoped for. She answered, "Anything you want, my love, anything you want."

They got drunk that night, the four of them. The storm raged on outside and they were trapped inside and Aedan still needed to let off steam, so he suggested they play cards with the Wardens and Leliana readily agreed. She'd started a thought process he wanted to explore, but wasn't ready to just yet and so he sought to occupy his mind in another way. Marin produced a bottle of wine and when they finished that, Leliana disappeared and came back with two more. Then Runir produced a bottle of whiskey saying, "This stuff is so foul you have to be half drunk to drink it," looking around at them he grinned and said, "and I think we qualify!"

Leliana had one sip, choked and put her glass aside. "Runir, I am not drunk enough."

The three men laughed at her and she started drinking water instead. Aedan silently agreed the whiskey tasted awful, but he drank it anyway. He'd achieved numbness, mental and physical, and it was a blessed relief. They were too drunk to play cards, so Leliana pulled out her harp and they sang instead. After two rousing ballads, Marin turned to Leliana, his accent so thick with drink he barely spoke Fereldan anymore, and asked, "Do you know the one about the drunken fishwife?"

And of course she did, and many more even bawdier songs and she played several to increasing hilarity from her audience. Aedan once again had to pull her into his arms and announce, "Do I not have a talented wife?"

Marin then took the harp and Runir fashioned a drum from an empty chamber pot and they played a lively tune so that he and Leliana could dance and though Aedan was so drunk he could barely keep time, he still enjoyed the amused look on his wife's face. Then they took the instruments and Marin and Runir danced, causing him to laugh until his belly hurt as Runir pouted and posed and Marin good naturedly went along with the show. Leliana giggled so hard her fingers slipped from the harp several times and when the last notes of the tune finally faded away, she looked up and said, "Listen."

Aedan looked about and the two Wardens did the same and then he turned to her and said, "What are we listening for?"

She grinned. "The silence, Aedan, the storm has passed."

Stumbling to his feet, Aedan braced himself on the back of a chair but continued to sway. "Then why is the ship still rolling so much?"

Leliana giggled, Runir laughed from his belly and Marin added a series of chuckles and hiccups.

On the fourth day, he slept off his hangover.


	5. Politics

Politics

Alistair furrowed his brow as he studied the maps Aedan had left behind.

"Here." Philippe indicated a spot just shy of Gwaren. "This is where Aedan planned to start next. We found no apparent road leading to Denerim from Amaranthine, but we do know the network extends as far south as Gwaren. Once underground the first direction we check will be north, any tunnels or roads that may lead to the city."

Alistair studied the map of Ferelden, in particular the vast forest that lay between Denerim and Gwaren. Much lay beneath the Brecilian Forest, the companions had ventured there during the Blight. They had discovered a city underground that appeared to be elven, and though many of the hallways and corridors had been blocked with rubble, just as many had not been. Who knew where they led. If the elves had once lived underground just as the dwarves did, might it not make sense that their highways might converge? A cold shiver ran down Alistair's spine and he looked up to meet Philippe's eyes.

"It's a sound plan. For all that he looks like the living dead lately, his mind is still clear." They both knew of whom he spoke.

"We will march to Denerim with you in the morning, Alistair, and I'll send word once we reach Gwaren." Philippe paused and a small smile lifted the corners of his mouth. "Ironically, if Leliana were living at Gwaren, he might have been closer to her than he had been for the last two years."

Alistair could only nod in response. He shared a rueful smile with Philippe, but his thoughts had taken a different turn. Did Leliana's duties as chancellor keep her away from Aedan as well? Had he unwittingly played a part in their continued separation? He didn't think so, but it was something to consider, something to discuss with Brenna.

His wife stood not far from the main door, watching Luke and Zevran play with the children and he tapped her on the shoulder, and indicated she should follow him to a quiet spot. They walked side by side, quietly for a moment, eventually taking a seat on the far side of the courtyard.

Brenna settled herself and then turned to him with a smile. "What's on your mind, love?"

"You and Leliana are quite close, right?"

"Yes, I like to think we are. Why?"

Alistair stopped and drew his brows together. "Do you think she's happy in Denerim? I mean, does she like being Chancellor?"

Brenna reached up to smooth his brows. "Oh, Alistair. You are not keeping her from Aedan, if that's what you're thinking." Brenna chewed on her lip a moment and then in a quiet, confidential tone said, "She and I have talked of this very thing."

Anxiety curled within his gut and Alistair opened his mouth, but Brenna waved a hand. "Leliana enjoys her work, Alistair, really, she does. She knows full well you'd let her go to Aedan any time she wishes, or that you'd even appoint someone else in her place. But she also knows that if she went to Gwaren or even Vigil's Keep that she'd sit there by herself while her husband hunted darkspawn beneath the ground. In Denerim she is occupied and with those she considers family. But we both know she works nearly as hard as he does, that's part of the reason I suggested sending her with him to Orlais."

Alistair digested this information with a combined sense of sadness and relief. He had never seen two people more in love than Leliana and Aedan. And while it was no secret how they had managed to drift so far apart, he still wondered at it. "If she changes her mind, if she wants to leave, you will let me know?"

Brenna nodded. "Let's hope this time together does them both some good."

He drew Brenna into his arms and hugged her gently. "To think I used to envy Aedan his freedom." He kissed the top of her head. "I might have to deal with backstabbing, scheming nobles, but at least I get to do it with you at my side."

##

Alistair glanced from one trunk to the other. "This is all for Rory and Grace? I thought we were carting supplies up here."

Brenna laughed as they watched the luggage being loaded into the cart. "Traveling with children requires a lot of planning, and extra everything."

Alistair chuckled. "Well I'm glad you're on top of if, love. If it had been left up to me I might have thought to pack some clean socks." Scrutinizing the two children closely, he finally said, "Come to think of it, I don't think I've ever seen Grace in the same dress twice."

Brenna laughed again, the sound setting off the little girl who danced up and down clapping her hands as she giggled. "You have, Alistair, Grace just knows how to accessorize." She leaned down to tighten a hair ribbon.

"Of course she does, my dear Brenna. With a mother such as our fair Orlesian bard, how could she do otherwise?" Zevran's accent, as always, added the proper flavour to his words and both Alistair and Brenna chuckled along with him.

Zevran would be accompanying them to Denerim. While he could still make a Chantry Sister blush, his manner had been more solemn since he had returned from Antiva over two years before and when Aedan was away, the former assassin rarely let Luke out of his sight. For his part, Luke accepted Zevran as both mentor and friend.

"Is Luke nearly ready, Zev?"

Zevran rolled his eyes toward the far corner of the large courtyard. "He is saying good bye to Anders's cat."

"Kitty!" Grace clapped her hands together and started to trot toward the mage. Rory followed his sister and Brenna, of course, followed the children. Alistair watched as their orderly little party broke up across the yard.

"Um, aren't we supposed to be leaving? Soon?" he called out. Hearing a soft chuckle beside him he turned to find Zevran looking quite amused. "What?"

The elf clapped him on the shoulder. "You might be King of Ferelden, Alistair, but you are no longer in charge of this little party."

The return trip to Denerim passed swiftly. They traveled in such a large group, his soldiers and the accompanying Wardens, that not a moment seemed to go by without lively conversation or a song. The night they spent at camp had the atmosphere of a carnival or fete; the children were excited to be surrounded by so much activity. As the road between Denerim and Amaranthine had become so well traveled folks usually stayed overnight in the same spot and in the intervening years an enterprising couple had built an inn there and they had prospered. Alistair had stayed there several times himself, as had most of the Wardens when they travelled in smaller groups.

Alistair elected to camp out with Wardens and soldiers this trip, however. Rory and Grace were easily diverted in so much company and it was a rare chance for him to sleep beneath the stars. He sometimes missed the easy comradeship companions had shared during the Blight, the campfire conversations and the uncomplicated food. He reveled in being able to recapture that feeling, if for only one night.

After the children had settled he lay in his bedroll with Brenna snuggled securely by his side. The night echoed with the sound of frogs and the occasional hoot of an owl. Voices floated over from nearby campfires, quiet laughs. He could hear a harp being strummed some distance away. Despite all the noise, however, the atmosphere felt restful. Brenna gazed at the stars and he gazed at her. "Do you like sleeping under the stars, love?"

"Yes, I do. Even though we can hear all the night sounds, it's somehow more peaceful."

Alistair smiled and hugged her closer. She understood it perfectly. "I like sleeping outside. I wonder what the staff would say if we slept in the garden one night?"

He could feel Brenna giggling against him. "Good morning, your majesty? Would you like your eggs in the garden or the dining room?"

They were both laughing now. When they had caught their breath, Alistair kissed his wife goodnight and fell asleep with a smile across his lips.

The party reached Denerim the next day and the Wardens elected to travel on while the light still held and so they made their farewells at the city gates.

Alistair grasped Philippe's arm. "May the Maker watch over you, Philippe."

"And you, Alistair." The Senior Warden turned to Zevran and the two men nodded respectfully toward one another.

Teagan awaited them at the palace. The Arl of Redcliffe now, he spent his time equally between the arling and Denerim, much as Eamon had done, lending his support and experience to Alistair over the previous two years. Teagan had the same flair for politics Eamon had, but a more relaxed attitude. Teagan and Leliana would have competently handled affairs in his absence, but now that he had sent his chancellor to Orlais, he was happy to see the man he considered his uncle.

"Alistair, Brenna, how was the journey?" He gripped Alistair's arm and stooped to kiss Brenna's cheek, giving them both a warm welcome. He then turned to Luke and gave him a similar greeting, and finally crouched down to hug the two children who enthusiastically greeted their Uncle Teagan.

"Fair, thank you. You received my message?" Alistair had sent a courier ahead to let Teagan know of his change in plans.

"I did." Teagan raised his brows at Alistair.

Alistair nodded and gripped his uncle's shoulder. "I appreciate you staying in the city with me, Teagan. Now that I've sent my chancellor away, I'll need your advice all the more."

"I doubt that, Alistair, but I'll provide it if you wish." Teagan smiled good-naturedly all around and then bid them goodnight.

A more subdued group sat to dinner that first night back in Denerim. Brenna and Luke arrived at the smaller dining room, each with a youngster by the hand and Alistair marveled at how easily the five of them sat together and how accepting Rory and Grace were of their mother's absence. He commented on it to Brenna.

"I think tomorrow they'll notice. I'll try to keep them busy – I'll take them to the orphanage with me perhaps." She eyed Luke. "Will you accompany me, Luke?"

"Sure, Brenna." He chucked before adding, "I don't think Zevran will want to come along though."

Later Alistair hovered in the doorway as he watched Brenna and Luke settle the two children and tell them bedtime stories. Luke knew the routine and Brenna seemed to have a natural aptitude for it. He wondered if this was a female thing or she was just a nurturing person. He further wondered if he would know what to do if and when they had a child. Though he knew Brenna and Luke would take the bulk of the responsibility for the care of Grace and Rory over the next month, he still felt a twinge of uneasiness over being left alone with them.

Before they fell asleep a sudden chill of apprehension took him and he tapped Brenna on the shoulder. "What if the children need something in the night?"

Brenna uttered a sleepy sounding chuckle. "Luke will see to them."

"He can do that?"

Brenna laughed properly this time. "Yes! Go to sleep."

Alistair scrutinized Rory and Grace's faces over breakfast, looking for any hint of the children being upset or out of sorts. Brenna drew his attention away with a sharp poke to the ribs. "Hm?"

"Stop staring at them, Alistair, you'll make them uncomfortable."

He leaned closer to her. "Do they miss her yet?"

Brenna clucked her tongue at him and replied, "Are going to do this every day for the next month?"

Alistair raised a brow. "Maybe?"

Brenna smiled and urged him out of his chair. "Go, I'm sure Teagan is eagerly awaiting the opportunity to offer you his advice."

Tickled at Brenna's humour, Alistair chuckled and bent to kiss her cheek. "Have a good day, love." Looking up he raised a hand at Luke. "Zev and I will rescue you from the women and children after lunch and we'll head to the Fort!"

Luke grinned enthusiastically.

Teagan arrived at his office only moments after he did and they sat, Alistair behind his desk, Teagan in front. The Arl leaned back in his chair and studied him thoughtfully a moment before starting to speak. "You didn't stay in Ferelden because of concerns over the upcoming Landsmeet did you?"

Alistair sighed and shook his head. "No. The reasons I sent Aedan and Leliana in my stead are valid. But I will admit I am happy to have more time to prepare. I am sure Bann Ceorlic wasted no time in my absence rallying his coterie. Perhaps the fact I am in the city will quiet his tongue, even if just a little." Bann Ceorlic, once a staunch supporter of Teyrn Loghain, had been his most outspoken opponent for years.

Teagan cleared his throat and Alistair cocked his head. "Alistair, Ceorlic running off at the mouth at the Gnawed Noble is a given at any time, the man cannot hold his brandy." Teagan grinned and looked down at his hands a moment, then glancing up again, he gave a small frown. "We may want to look at where he currently lodges, however."

Alistair tried for a chuckle. "Don't tell me the old man has finally discovered a taste for the Pearl."

Teagan raised his eyebrows in an amused gesture, his lips curving into a slight smile. He shook his head slowly. "He is currently the esteemed guest of Arl Vaughn."

Alistair braced both his hands on his desk and then looking at his papers, rifled through a pile and pulled out a note from Leliana. "Leliana mentioned something about Vaughn before we left, here it is." He scanned the note and visibly paled. Looking up at Teagan he said, "Bann Esmerelle is to be his guest for the Landsmeet also. I do not think this is a coincidence."

Alistair put aside the note and then stood and paced from his desk to the window. Esmerelle had been stewing for years and obviously eyeing the title of Arlessa for herself. Alistair shook his head and turned to face Teagan. "Making Nathaniel Howe Arl of Amaranthine was the right thing to do."

"I agree, the timing is just unfortunate," Teagan responded softly.

Alistair knew exactly what Teagan referred to. Just a month ago he had promoted an elf to vice captain of the palace guard and he had signed orders for more to be promoted through the ranks of his army. While most of Ferelden supported his new attitude toward the country's elven population, he was not naïve enough to think everyone did. Vaughn was well known for his lack of tolerance and Alistair could only guess this was the reason he'd apparently taken up with Ceorlic and now Esmerelle.

Alistair's head started to spin and he stepped back to his desk and sat down heavily. "Perhaps I should have considered Vaughn's appointment more carefully. But despite his proclivities, he suffered at Howe's hands as much as we all did." Vaughn also made a fine Arl. While not the most likeable person, that actually worked to his favour and his decisions were usually fair. "Am I moving too swiftly with my new policies?"

"Change is never quiet or easy, Alistair. Eamon might have advised you to slow down. But honestly, I think your way is better. Cailan wanted change too, you know. You two are alike in many ways."

Alistair appreciated the candor with which Teagan referred to his half-brother. His uncle never danced delicately around comparisons or shied away from mentioning initiatives Cailan had started that perhaps he'd like to pursue. This was one of the greatest reasons he valued the Teagan's advice, even when he missed Eamon's steady presence and steadfast belief in his appointment as king.

Teagan continued, "It would not be natural to have all the Banns and Arls on your side, but you have the support where it counts. All Ceorlic can do is make noise. Both Teyrns are your men and you have surrounded yourself with people you can trust."

Alistair scratched his chin thoughtfully. "I sometimes wonder if I have not merely indulged myself. Maybe it's not a coincidence that I have just promoted another Grey Warden."

"You would rather appoint people who are less suitable just to keep the peace? That does not sound like you, Alistair. A good king surrounds himself with supporters, not agitators. Don't back down now, you are on the brink of ushering in a new age for Ferelden. Hold fast to your beliefs."

Alistair nodded soberly at Teagan's words. "Thank you, Teagan. Brenna and Leliana usually take turns in giving me that speech, but I appreciate hearing it from someone else." Rolling his shoulders and glancing out the window to check the angle of the sun, he asked, "Is it afternoon yet?"

Teagan folded his arms across his chest and smiled as he leaned back. "No, but how about we talk about something more pleasant?"

"Please!"

"I've asked Kaitlyn to be my wife."

Alistair stood up and literally jogged around his desk to grasp his uncle's shoulder and as the older man stood, he drew him into a fond hug.

"That is good news, Teagan. Where will you hold the ceremony?"

"Redcliffe."

Alistair nodded. "Well, prepare for guests because I am inviting myself!"

Teagan laughed and clapped him on the back. "Of course you're invited, Alistair. We're planning for next summer."

Alistair glanced at the floor as he smiled. Nobles marrying commoners, dwarves leading armies, elves captaining guards and Grey Wardens voting in the Landsmeet -- he didn't know if he would be remembered for being a great King, but he fervently hoped he would leave his mark upon Ferelden.


	6. The Gift of a Day

_This chapter is a bit of self indulgence on my part. So I'll apologise in advance for the fluffiness! But I wanted them to have this day together, because tomorrow things will get interesting…_

The Gift of a Day

Leliana leaned out over the rail and took in a deep, refreshing breath of salt scented air. The afternoon had advanced, though the sun still hovered above the horizon, and she expected they'd catch their first glimpse of Val Royeaux soon. She didn't have to look beside her to know Aedan stood there, she could feel him; feel the restless energy that rolled off him in waves.

Thinking back over the previous six days, she could only liken the experience to being caged with a wild animal. In turns her husband had terrified and saddened her. She had tried to put up a brave front, for his sake, but had found herself reduced to tears at night as she watched the anxiety slowly ease from his face as he slept. She had known for some time, they all had, that Aedan drove himself too hard, but he had been better at hiding his obsession at the Keep. He had duties, exercise and the company of his Wardens to help keep him focused. On several occasions in the past few days Leliana had felt as if she was flailing uselessly at a situation she had no control over. This was a feeling she was not used to and did not enjoy. She'd had even been tempted to get him drunk again, but had refrained, knowing she might only end up replacing one obsession with another.

Fervently hoping that Val Royeaux would hold enough distraction for him, for them both, Leliana let out a heavy sigh and leaned further forward, dropping her gaze to the water below. A warm hand settled across her shoulder blades and she lifted her eyes to find Aedan looking at her, his brow furrowed.

"Leli?" He looked so concerned for her that her resolve slipped and she knew he saw her sadness when his expression changed and he stepped forward, pulling her into his arms, hugging her tightly. "I'm sorry, Leli, I'm so sorry. Do you wish you had stayed in Ferelden?"

Was it awful that she felt tempted to say yes? Shaking her head, she instead mumbled, "No."

Loosening his arms, Aedan stepped back so he could see her face. "I'm thinking about what you said, I promise you, I am." Taking a breath, he lowered his eyes a moment and then looked at her once more. "I'm decided that I'm not going with Runir and Marin to the Warden's Keep."

Leliana blinked in surprise as a combination of hope and worry flared inside her. "Can I ask why?"

Regarding her seriously, he replied. "You can ask me anything, Leli, always." He gazed at the water a moment and his jaw tensed before he answered her question. "Runir and Marin are quite capable of delivering the maps and reports without me. If I go there, if I…"

Sighing, he lifted his eyes from the water and looked at her. "I want to stay with you." He lowered his voice and she sensed his next words were more difficult to say. "Would you rather I went?"

She wasn't even tempted to say yes this time. Moving forward she wrapped her arms about him and rested her head against his chest. "No." She felt him relax in her grasp and hope temporarily triumphed over worry.

Val Royeaux appeared on the horizon moments later and taking her hand Aedan leaned over the rail, and pointed. "Will you tell me about the city?"

As the city came into view, she picked out the landmarks for him, and while she described the city she knew so well, a shiver of excitement rose within her. She would show him everything; now that he had elected to stay with her they would have the time to visit all the places she truly wanted to share.

The Empress awaited them on the dock and her eyebrows rose and her face broke into a wide smile as Leliana and Aedan descended from the ship. Stepping forward she took Leliana by the shoulders and kissed each cheek. "Leliana, what a delightful surprise!" She then offered her hand to Aedan, who took it and kissed it gracefully. "And the Hero of Ferelden, I am spoiled!"

Aedan laughed and bowed his head, "I am at your service, your majesty."

Leliana noticed Celene studying Aedan's face and wondered what the Empress looked for. Clearing her throat she handed Celene a scroll with Alistair's seal and said politely, "I hope you are not too disappointed to have us instead of Alistair and Brenna. He sends his best regards, of course."

Celene took the scroll and handed it to her companion, someone who had the look of a functionary, and replied with a welcoming smile, "Not at all my dear. Let me formally welcome you to Orlais, I'm overjoyed to see you both!" Her smile widened. "Now, will you join me for a late supper this evening, or are you tired from your journey?"

##

Leliana opened her eyes and blinked at the empty pillow in front of her. Where was Aedan? Early morning light drifted through the gauzy curtains drawn over the balcony doors and the room was quiet… except for, footsteps?

Anxiety gripped her and Leliana rolled over just as he sat on the bed beside her, a flower in his hand. His blue eyes held the familiar light of love and life she had so missed and he tickled her cheek with the petals before bending down to kiss her softly. Then he whispered against her lips, "Happy birthday, love."

Leliana gasped and grinned in delight. She had forgotten her own birthday, but Aedan had not. Love for her husband, for remembering and for being there, swelled within her and she lifted her arms to draw him down to her side. "Thank you."

Her first 'gift' left her breathless and flushed and Leliana couldn't stop smiling as she lay in his arms, waiting for her heartbeat to slow. Before she had fully recovered her breath, Aedan slipped from the bed and returned with a small package. She sat up to unwrap it, and exclaimed softly as she pulled the small book from the folds of paper. He had mentioned the project to her, but she'd had no idea he'd finished it. The book held a collection of tales from Highever, things he remembered from childhood, stories his parents had told him, even some songs. Fergus had helped him, she knew that, but she also knew that he'd carried the book everywhere with him for the past year or so, using his spare time to compile the collection. She looked up and beamed at him. "You finished it!"

He grinned. "I got up early this morning to finish the last one, Fergus's letter arrived just before we boarded the ship and of course, you didn't let me out of your sight for six days, so I had to wait until this morning."

Leliana laughed with him and she hugged the book to her chest. "Thank you. I shall treasure it."

Aedan leaned in to rest his forehead against hers. "Now, I am yours for the entire day, whatever you want to do." He kissed her nose and then pulled back and grinned before he added, "Oh, except for one little thing."

Leliana raised a brow and he handed her a small scroll, and she recognised it as the one Alistair had handed him on the docks at Amaranthine. "What's this?"

"At some point today we need to buy you a dress, because in two days we will be attending a ball."

Leliana gasped and grinned and laughed in delight. Then she remembered she was supposed to be spending the day with Celene and her advisors. "But I am supposed to be meeting with…"

"I took care of that. Apparently Celene cannot say 'no' to the Hero of Ferelden. She rescheduled for tomorrow." Ah, the quiet word he'd had with the Empress at supper the night before.

"Aedan, I am speechless, well, obviously not," she paused and giggled at herself before continuing, "I am stunned, and touched and… I love you!"

He laughed and hugged her tightly. "Good! Because I love you too!" He kissed her soundly and then asked, "So what would you like to do today?"

Leliana felt a wave of energy and enthusiasm move through her. "Do you feel like walking?" She laughed and added, "Well of course you do!" and he laughed good naturedly along with her. "I know just where to go for a dress." Her mind raced ahead and she made plans. "Afterwards, we'll have lunch and I will show you my favourite places in the city. I will save the best for last."

"I can't wait, love." He looked happy and relaxed.

She threw her arms around him again, suddenly overwhelmed with emotion. "Thank you, Aedan."

The dressmaker she had in mind still operated out of the same premises and the proprietress even recognised her as she entered. A tall, handsome woman by the name of Felicity, she stepped forward and took both Leliana's hands in greeting. "It is Leliana, correct? You were here nearly five years ago, yes? But in the company of two other gentleman." Felicity arched a perfectly manicured brow in Aedan's direction and he stepped forward as if summoned.

Leliana introduced him in the formal and proper Orlesian fashion, "This is my husband, Teyrn Aedan Cousland, Warden Commander of Ferelden. Aedan, this is Felicity Martin, the most renowned dressmaker in Val Royeaux."

Leliana stifled chuckles at both the impressed look on Felicity's face and the startled look on Aedan's. As the tall woman bustled away to retrieve samples he leaned toward her and whispered, "Why so formal?"

"It is the way it's done here and you need to get used to it, you'll hear it over and over at the ball."

Aedan groaned softly and Leliana chuckled and squeezed his hand. Felicity appeared with an armful of lace and silk and a fabric she didn't even know the name of and Leliana felt her pulse quicken. Aedan might have said anything in that moment and she would not have heard him. She allowed the woman to usher her into the dressing area and she ceased to notice the passage of time as she tried on dress after dress, exclaiming over colour, cut, fit and design.

It was only as she shared a cup of tea with Felicity that she remembered she'd left her husband out in the sitting area. "Oh, I should check on…"

Felicity put a hand on her arm. "He is asleep. They usually are at this stage. The elf that accompanied you last time, he is one of the few men who has not succumbed to the comforts of my chairs. You did not bring him with you this visit?"

Leliana could tell by the woman's tone that she assumed Zevran had been her servant. She didn't know how to explain his presence otherwise and so she commented, "He is in Ferelden, with my children."

Then, of course, Felicity wanted to hear all about her babies and Leliana happily indulged her, making herself feel joyful and wistful at the same time as she described the unique characteristics of each of her children. She could picture Riordan's serious little frown and the way he looked so much like his father. She noticed it most when she really missed Aedan, she would look down and see his likeness in their son and her heart would tug and her little boy always knew and would offer her a hug. She described Grace's curls and her sweet and happy disposition. Lastly she described Luke, how he had become a young man, a handsome young man with his brown hair and brown eyes and his quiet and easy manner. Here her heart swelled with pride over her children and tears pricked her eyes. She missed them all. Felicity handed her a handkerchief and patted her arm and murmured all the right words.

When she finally made her way to the front of the store she paused and smiled at the sight of Aedan. His long legs stretched straight out before him, his hands rested in his lap and his head lolled against the back of the chair. The angle caused him to snore softly. Raising her fingers to her lips she chuckled softy and crossed to sit next to him, observing him a moment longer before she shook his shoulder.

"Mm?" he said, blinking and rubbing at the scar on his forehead.

"Ready for lunch?"

He looked confused. "Already? What time is it?"

The late summer weather was warm and so she led him to a tavern that had a garden in the back where a truly ancient tree graced the ground with its cool shade. Several small, intimate tables were placed at even intervals around the wide trunk and Aedan appeared quite taken with both the garden and the food. He even drank wine with his lunch, something he didn't normally do and Leliana smiled as she watched him relax further.

Reaching across the table he took her hands and smiled. "What do you think the children are up to right now?"

Leliana laughed as she considered the various possibilities that came to mind, all of them featuring a worried looking Alistair and a serene Brenna. "I think they are probably terrifying their uncle and delighting their aunt."

"Do you think Luke is alright?" He frowned slightly, his voice softening as it always did when he mentioned his eldest son.

"He'll be fine, Aedan. He has his shadow, remember?"

Aedan nodded and his stiff smile relaxed again at her reassurance. "What is next, love?"

As the afternoon progressed the air thickened and the heat intensified, and the clean cobbles and whitewashed buildings, full window boxes and brightly painted doors clamored for attention against the ringing of chantry bells and the strident sounds of a busy city. Val Royeaux fairly buzzed and Leliana let the excitement slip inside her, buoying her mood and her step. They strolled leisurely through the city toward the chantry and Leliana pointed out sites of historical significance and places that held interest to her alone. She paused to let him admire the statues of Emperor Drakon and Andraste.

The interior of the chantry swallowed light and sound and cool air wrapped about them, causing a shiver. Aedan took her hand and she showed him through the archives, pointing out treasures she knew he'd be interested in and pausing when he wanted to examine something further. Finally they made their way toward the rows of pews set behind the altar in the cavernous main chamber and they sat together and contemplated their own thoughts in silence for a while.

Leliana breathed in the softly centered air and let the serenity slip inside her. Though she believed the Maker was in all things, the chantry at Val Royeaux held a special significance and being here stirred many memories.

As the quiet moments slipped by she took the opportunity to study Aedan. He seemed so peaceful today, whether it was because he'd been occupied or if he'd started to let go of some of his anger, she couldn't be sure, but he'd been pleasant company all day and she'd not felt any restlessness or constrained urgency from him. He looked rested too and she chuckled as she considered he'd probably had close to a two hour nap at the dressmakers. He looked over at the chuckle and smiled at her, reaching for her hand and lacing his fingers between hers.

"Is this what you saved for last, love? It is fitting, it's beautiful and peaceful."

Leliana shook her head softly. "No, I've one more thing to show you. Are you ready for another walk?"

He nodded, his eyes alight with curiosity and she led him from the shaded interior of the chantry and back out into the late afternoon. She checked the angle of the sun and nodded to herself. They had time, just enough time. Quickening her stride a little in her eagerness, she led him behind the chantry and into the garden beyond. At the back of the garden a small gate stood open, a winding path cutting into the hillside behind. Aedan raised his brows as she walked toward it, but said nothing. The path wound around the side of the cliff, switching back on itself several times before finally leading to a wide ledge just below the crest of the hill. A slender wooden split rail fence enclosed the ledge.

Leading him to the rail, Leliana sat, letting her legs dangle and Aedan sat beside her and slipped his arm about her shoulders. They said nothing for a while as they took in the view. The sun had started to dip beyond the horizon and just as she'd hoped, the last amber rays cast a golden glow over the sea, the sails of the ships along the docks, the city, the palace, the towers and the chantry.

When the sun finally disappeared a light breeze stirred the trees on the cliff behind them as if the sound broke their trance, Aedan turned to her and pulled her close to his side and pressed his lips to her temple. "You did save the best 'til last."

Leliana had never brought anyone else here, though she'd longed to once or twice, but Aedan was the only person she felt might appreciate the view and what else she wanted to share. "I used to come here when I wanted to be peaceful."

Turning to indicate the path that continued around the cliff on the far side of the ledge, she continued quietly, "This was my last view of Val Royeaux when I fled to Ferelden. That path joins a track that eventually leads to the Imperial Highway."

Aedan looked over his shoulder at the path, considering it silently for a while before turning back to her. "I wish I had been here for you."

"The Maker was here for me then, Aedan, and you are here now."

Raising hand he stroked her cheek softly. "I've been so very selfish, Leli. I'm sorry." He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close and she rested her head against his chest. She felt his voice rumbling beneath her ear as he spoke again. "I want to stay here, right in this spot forever, with you in my arms. It _is_ peaceful."

Leliana wished they could too. The man she'd spent the day with, the one that held her in his arms right now, still felt too thin, but he was calm and rested and thoughtful. He was again the man she had fallen in love with.


	7. Tea in the Garden

Tea in the Garden

Aedan had achieved a sense of peace the day before he thought he'd lost forever. He tried to recapture it as he leaned over the balcony railing and gazed beyond the palace walls at the city. His vantage point allowed him a view down to the docks and up to the hill behind the chantry and he played over the previous day in his mind, remembering the calmness he'd felt as he held Leliana in his arms on that wide ledge. The simple joy in each other's company had lasted the long walk back to the palace and through the night and into the morning. Leliana had thanked him over and over, telling him she would always remember their day. He had thanked her just as profusely, mostly for being his love and his wife. He still felt the contentment and the happiness, but it had become tinged with the familiar restlessness as he wondered what he would do with himself this day.

"Celene would be happy to have you sit in on our meeting," Leliana had suggested over breakfast.

Aedan shook his head. "You can't watch over me every day, love." Taking her hand he squeezed it gently. "I'll be alright."

And he had been for the first hour after she left, though their suite had echoed silently in the wake of her voice and seemed empty without her presence. So he'd gone to the balcony to study the city, to perhaps pick a direction for his day, but as he gazed out his inactivity caught up with him and the first tendrils of agitation coiled in his gut. Perhaps he should have gone with Runir and Marin to the keep? Guilt, slight, but recognizable, gripped him as he contemplated his decision to remain in the city with his wife. It hadn't been a spur of the moment choice, he'd thought over it, fretted over it ever since she'd found him in the hold that third day at sea. Though ostensibly he'd come away on Grey Warden business, he knew he'd been sent away to accomplish more than simply handing over charts and maps. He believed he'd made the right choice, hard as it had been to choose his wife over his work, and he tried to stop second guessing himself, tried to push the lingering guilt aside. He would be no use to anyone if he did not relax, recover and reevaluate his priorities.

He needed to walk, he didn't want Leliana to find him pacing the room and sweating out his anxiety. Glancing through the balcony doors once again he glimpsed the cliff top and nodded. He'd go there, the walk would take him half the day and then he'd find something else to do.

Sweat dripped from him as he finally crested the path and the exercise itself had almost fully calmed him. Slipping his legs beneath the lower rail he sat as they had the night before and took in the view. Though not quite as breathtaking without the golden glow of the setting sun the scene still amazed and Aedan lost himself in it for a while.

When the restlessness edged in he thought of Leliana's voice.

"I can feel the Maker up here," she'd said. In the peaceful atmosphere of the night before, he had believed her, but then, he always believed her and he reached for his own faith now, something he'd not considered in over two years and it felt rusty and disused. He liked Leliana's idea that the Maker was in all things and he looked for evidence of the divine in the vista before him and his thoughts, seeking the overwhelming peace that always radiated from his wife.

Glancing over his shoulder he considered the path that curved further around the cliff. Leliana had suffered terribly before she left Orlais and yet she had been able to let it go. She had found peace. Casting his eyes back to the spread of the city below him, Aedan took a deep breath and reached for it, allowed his mind to touch the wound, the reason behind all his anger and obsession. Luke. He'd told Leliana he didn't know why he was so angry and often times he didn't, but he knew when it had started.

"Help me let it go." he whispered softly and he wondered if the Maker listened. Why couldn't he let it go? Maybe because he'd never truly tried? He'd hugged the guilt to himself and used it as a tool to fuel his actions and now it had become a crutch. Taking a deep breath, Aedan blew it out again as if he could expel some of his guilt and fury with such a simple action. A breeze sprang up and caressed his cheek at that very moment and Aedan blinked. Looking about himself, he saw the leaves on the tree behind him settling and so he knew he'd not imagined the brief gust of air, but the day had become still again, silent but for the hum of the cicadas the faint bustle of the city below.

As he descended from the cliff he tried to rationalize his thoughts. Whether the Maker had given him a gentle prod or not, a sense of resolution gripped him. He could do it, he could let it go. He would always carry the scar; the mark would fade with time, but never fully disappear. But he almost felt as if he could heal the wound. It might take him a year to let out the guilt, one breath at a time, but he resolved to do it.

He stopped at the chantry when he reached the bottom of the path, he went inside and sat quietly in a shadowed corner and prayed as he had not done for nearly three years.

The afternoon haze had descended over the city by the time he returned to the palace and the restlessness seemed to have ebbed. He smiled in anticipation of being able to greet Leliana in such a state, knowing she would sense his calm.

After washing the sweat from himself and changing his shirt, he decided to take Alistair's book down to the palace gardens and read until it was time to join her. He settled under a large tree, leaning against the trunk with the book in his lap, and took in the garden. The centre of the palace hosted a large garden, or what was actually a series of smaller gardens. A formal rose garden led to a set of ponds and terraces. Beyond the terrace spread a park like garden, the lawn reaching invitingly outwards towards the walls of the palace and edged with paths. Several trees shaded the lawn at evenly spaced intervals.

A couple walked along one of the paths, hand in hand and a servant hurried along another. Two children played together a short distance away while two maids sat beneath another tree, gossiping as they kept watch over their charges. Aedan watched the children, a boy and a girl and a smile lifted the corners of his mouth. They looked to be about a year older than Rory and Grace and even resembled them faintly, so far as he could tell from this distance. The boy had a shock of dark hair and the girl had curls, though not blonde, he noticed as she moved into the sunlight, more a reddish gold. They were playing catch and the boy missed the ball and it bounced and rolled across the grass toward Aedan.

Aedan got to his feet and walked towards the ball, he picked it up and held it out to the approaching boy. As the boy moved from the shade of a tree and into the sunlight Aedan's heart skipped a beat.

He saw himself -- tall for his age, long legged and slender, and the face, the narrow nose, the high cheekbones and the cool blue eyes, the dark hair. Aedan dropped the ball, but the boy did not bend to collect it. Instead he studied Aedan in much the same way, his eyes flicking from feature to feature, cataloguing, comparing.

Aedan dropped his gaze to the boy's neck and there it lay, as promised, his own pendant. Reflection, the one his father had given him, the one he had given to Morrigan for…

"Cian?" he whispered.

"Hello Aedan."

His breath caught and he could hear his pulse in his ears, that faint and familiar ring. A hundred questions flooded his mind and he picked one, his voice strained and hoarse. "You know my name?"

"Yes."

"Do you… do you know who I am?"

"Yes."

Aedan had to sit down. He tried not to fall to the ground; instead he crouched first and then sat. Cian sat next to him. Aedan found himself momentarily speechless. He couldn't take his eyes off the boy's face. Why did Cian look so much like him? Rory resembled him, certainly, but he looked like Leliana too.

"Is your mother here?"

Cian smiled. "She is." He cocked his head toward the palace. "She's inside talking to your wife."

A chill descended Aedan's spine. This boy did not speak like a four year old, he was so self possessed! Yet he looked like a boy, he looked happy and healthy, and as if he had been enjoying himself in the garden. A flash of colour caught Aedan's eye and he noted that the girl had wandered over. Up close he saw she was older than Cian, perhaps by a year, but around the same height. He nearly sagged with relief as he studied her features and recognised none.

"Who is this, Cian?" She asked, her accent heavy.

Cian turned toward his playmate and adopted a formal expression. "Marie, this is my father, Teyrn Aedan Cousland, Warden Commander of Ferelden." Turning back to Aedan, he continued, "Aedan, this is Marie Le Trene, daughter of Lord Le Trene, Advisor to Empress Celene."

Marie extended her hand equally as formally and Aedan blinked and took it gently in his as he moved his eyes back and forth from face to face in stunned silence.

"It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, my lord," Marie said sweetly.

Aedan recovered his wits and smiled politely, returning her greeting. "And you, my lady."

She giggled as he dropped her hand and bounced lightly on her toes.

"Will you play with us, Aedan?" Cian asked.

Aedan shook his head and both children pouted, their expressions so normal that he immediately relented and held up a hand. "Alright, I will, yes, I am..." Just a little surprised? He cleared his throat. "Forgive my rudeness," he said to Marie and she smiled sweetly.

Standing up, he bent for the ball, picked it up and indicated that they should move away and when they did he threw it to Marie first and she caught it and threw it to Cian. They continued in this fashion for a short while, the easy pace of the game allowing Aedan to study his son, Morrigan's child. Why was she here in Orlais? He noted Cian's clothes were well tailored and fitted, and the boy's ease in the company of his playmate and within the palace. He had been here for some time.

"Let's play a different game!" Marie called out. "I want to play chase and I say Aedan should be 'it' first because he is the oldest!"

Aedan chuckled and caught in the spirit of the moment, surged toward the little girl. She squealed with delight and kicked up her heels, running for the far side of the lawn. Aedan gave chase, making sure to stay just close enough to thrill without catching. Then Cian zigzagged across their path and Aedan nearly caught him with his outstretched hand. He missed and changed trajectory, chasing the boy instead. Cian taunted as he ran, "Can't catch me!"

Again, Aedan paced himself so that he nearly caught the boy several times, each resulting in a near miss that caused Cian to grin and laugh. Finally, with a lunge, Aedan tagged him and Cian stopped and panted a moment before yelling, "Here I come!"

Aedan laughed and ran, crossing paths with Marie, unintentionally confusing and diverting Cian. The boy tagged Marie and she immediately came after him and so Aedan picked up his speed, sprinting towards the tree where he had left his book. As he rounded the trunk he came face to face with her and she darted forward, tagging him easily. He laughed.

Voices floated across the lawn and he looked over to see the maids beckoning the children. Marie grabbed his hand. "Come along, Aedan, it is time for tea."

Aedan bent to grab his book and then allowed himself to be led across the lawn. He sat cross legged on the soft rug and the children settled to each side of him. He glanced from one to the other with a bemused expression. The situation felt both real and unreal. He'd played with his own children in just this fashion and it almost felt the same, except these were not his children… he glanced at Cian, well, one of them was.

Marie waved a hand towards the maids and uttered a short burst of Orlesian that Aedan roughly interpreted as, 'Please serve some tea to Cian's father.'

The maids nodded and did so without blinking, handing him a cup and indicating a small plate of pastries, and then they served the children.

Aedan sipped at his tea and then put it aside to address Cian, his curiosity finally taking hold. "How is it you know me, Cian?" Had Morrigan told him? He hadn't expected she would, beyond gifting her son with his pendant.

"I dream of you Aedan, I have done so since before I was born." Cian titled his head and smiled a small, mischievous smile. "Mother does not like it when I dream of you."

Aedan grinned, he couldn't help it. "I'll just bet she doesn't."

Cian chuckled in response and reached for a petite cake. Aedan watched him as he ate, unable to get over seeing his own face so clearly, unable to believe he had played with and now sat next to a child he had never expected to meet. Cian allowed his scrutiny, quite calm and comfortable beneath his gaze. They boy swallowed his cake and spoke again. "You used to dream of me too, didn't you? But you don't any more. You dream about Luke now."

Fear tickled down his spine and Aedan involuntarily drew back from the boy. He did dream of Luke, not often, but always the same dream, the same nightmare.

"How do you know all these things?" He wished his voice didn't sound so frightened, but this boy sounded too old for his years.

Cian shrugged and smiled, lifting his tea to take another sip. Voices approached and Aedan turned his head to see four figures walking across the lawn. Cian leaned toward him and whispered quietly, "I told mother you were having tea with us."

Aedan leaned away from the boy again, startled. A confused expression crossed Cian's face and Aedan leaned forward and tried to smooth his frown. He stammered, "Thank you," unsure exactly what he meant, but it seemed to suffice and the boy's face cleared.

Aedan stood to greet the approaching company, bowing formally and murmuring, "Good afternoon, your majesty," as Celene stopped before him.

Celene smiled warmly. "It seems Morrigan was correct in assuming you would find the children, Aedan."

Aedan glanced at Leliana and she moved to his side, her smile strained. He brushed her cheek with his lips and slipped an arm about her and he could feel the tension in her shoulders. She leaned gently, subtly against him and he was grateful for her presence, knowing this was one of those moments when they drew strength from each other.

Celene cleared her throat gently and Aedan glanced from his wife to the Empress. She indicated the gentleman to her side and Aedan immediately recognised him as Marie's father, Lord Le Trene. They were formally introduced and they grasped each other's hand politely and nodded.

"Welcome to Orlais, Teyrn Cousland."

"Aedan, please call me Aedan."

"Then you must call me Paul. I see you have met my daughter." Marie hopped up at this and moved toward her father and he bent to kiss her cheek. "Did you remember your manners, my sweet?"

Aedan smiled. "Marie is a very polite young lady, Paul."

The two men exchanged a nod and then it was finally time to acknowledge the fourth member of their party. Morrigan stepped forward.

Celene raised a brow and said, "And of course you already know my other advisor, don't you Aedan?" The empress tilted her head toward Cian before lifting her eyes back to study Aedan's face. "I think you know her quite well in fact."

Aedan flushed. He didn't confirm or deny. There was no use in denying he was the boy's father, not with Cian looking even more like him than Riordan did. Paul also moved his gaze from him to the boy and while Aedan felt like squirming beneath the scrutiny, Cian again appeared comfortable. Aedan finally regarded Morrigan. Unconsciously he tensed and he felt Leliana subtly shift against him. He nodded toward her and tried for a smile, it felt odd, strained. "You look well, Morrigan.

She did look well and he noted with some surprise that she wore not ragged robes, but something far simpler and more elegant, proper courtly attire. She wore her hair much the same and her eyes had not changed at all, they still bored through him, stirring the same uneasiness they always had. She smiled and the intensity of her gaze softened as she replied, "'Tis a pity I cannot say the same for you, Aedan. But I am sure we are all thankful that you are ever vigilant." Her eyes flicked toward Cian and her tone changed, her manner softened further. "I see you have already met my son."

Cian stepped forward then and Aedan felt Leliana lean into him, heard the soft gasp that fell from her lips. Celene looked from one of them to the other, her brows alternately raising and lowering as she perceived the dynamics of their intertwined relationships and Paul cleared his throat nervously. Aedan was on the point of grabbing Leliana's hand and making excuses, imagining their flight across the lawn when Marie piped up, her high young voice diverting all of their attention. "Please, your majesty, will you join us for tea?"

Celene chuckled and patted the young girl's head. "Of course, my dear." She glanced around at the group and in a tone that brooked no argument suggested, "Let us all sit and take tea in the garden."


	8. Days of Rain and Sunshine

Days of Rain and Sunshine

Alistair squeezed his eyes closed and stuck his fingers in his ears. He could still hear Grace.

"Make her stop," he whimpered and Brenna shot him a look that could make soldier's knees tremble.

She pressed the squirming, yelling child against his chest and let go. Pulling his fingers from his ears he wrapped his arms about Grace and prayed to the Maker that she would stop screaming soon.

"Just comfort her, please? She's upsetting Rory."

Rory wasn't the only upset child. A ripple of sound had risen amongst the orphans, small wails, sniffles, agitated sounds. It sounded like a storm brewing and Alistair widened his eyes in panic. Glancing at Luke he said, "Pick up Rory, we need to leave, now!"

Brenna packed up her things and exchanged a few apologetic words with one of the sisters. "I'll keep them at the palace for the next few days, until they are feeling more themselves again. I'm sorry, Sister Finola, I had no idea…" she shook her head wearily and the older woman patted her sympathetically on the shoulder.

They bustled outside the orphanage and into the street and Zevran looked up in alarm. Alistair was very tempted to thrust the screaming little girl at him, but relented, and hugged Grace closer to his chest, seeking more to keep her still than soothe her at this stage.

"Did you frighten the children, Alistair?" Zevran asked, his eyebrows raised in amusement.

Alistair scowled at the rogue. "Do you want to hold her?"

"When you are doing it so well? I don't think so." Zevran laughed and skipped ahead to walk beside Luke and Alistair growled low in his throat. Grace looked at him, her mouth open to yell again, her eyes wide in fright and then she howled and Alistair squeezed her a little harder. The palace was too far away from the orphanage, he decided.

"Alistair, you're holding her too tightly!" Brenna tried to adjust his grip and Alistair rolled his eyes. This really was too much.

By the time they got to the palace, exhaustion lay heavily across his shoulders. Thankfully, fatigue had also caught up with the two children and they lay almost limp in his and Luke's arms, heads lolled against shoulders. They took them upstairs and laid them on their beds and they seemed to fall asleep almost as soon as their heads touched the pillows.

Alistair stepped out to the sitting room of Aedan and Leliana's apartment and collapsed on the couch. "Andraste's knickers, if Orlais decided to invade right now, I don't think I'd have the strength to lift my sword."

Brenna smiled weakly. "It's a good thing Celene is our friend then."

Alistair rubbed at his ear and said, "What? I can't hear you. I'm deaf."

Luke chuckled and flopped over one of the arm chairs. "I don't think we'll make it to the Fort this afternoon."

"I would accompany you, Luke," Zevran put in quietly.

Luke waved a hand. "Thanks, Zev, but I think I should be here when they wake up."

Zevran nodded and glanced about before excusing himself. "Though you all look like such lively and diverting company, I think I shall take myself elsewhere." He chuckled and sailed out of the room.

"Chicken," Alistair called after him.

Brenna chuckled. "I don't blame him, I'm not sure I want to be here when they wake up either."

"What happened?" Alistair raised a brow in both question and concern.

Brenna shook head softly and rubbed at her forehead. "I am so stupid, Alistair, it just never occurred…"

"It's not your fault, Brenna, I didn't think of it either," Luke interjected.

Alistair glanced from one to the other. "What?"

Brenna looked up. "Rory told Grace they were orphans now. She did not take it well."

Alistair began to understand. "But you've taken them to the orphanage before, many times."

"Yes, but Leliana always accompanied us." Brenna covered her mouth with her hands, stifling what might have been a yawn or a sigh. "They enjoy playing with the other children. I didn't think they'd make such a connection, but perhaps taking them so often without Leliana was not such a good idea." Glancing up again, she added, "And we were short staffed today, one of the women who usually help us did not show up for her shift."

Alistair noticed his wife looked tired then. "I'll do what I can to help this afternoon, love. Together we'll entertain and distract the children. Maybe keep them here, in their own environment?"

Brenna smiled. "That's a good idea, Alistair. Thank you."

##

He didn't think he'd ever been so happy to see his office as he was when he stepped inside the relative sanctuary the next morning. Were children always that exhausting? A dull ache pulsed behind his temple and his eyes felt gritty. The previous afternoon had been long and tedious with the three of them responding to Rory's every whim and each tremble of Grace's lower lip.

Teagan arrived shortly afterwards and looked him over with concern. "Are you well?"

"I'm tired Teagan. I think we need to rethink this whole me having an heir thing."

Teagan laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. "Days of rain are almost always followed by days of sunshine, Alistair."

Alistair automatically glanced toward the window and he chuckled at the raindrops splattering against the panes. "Perhaps tomorrow will be a better day for us all then." He clapped his hands together. "Right, so what are we going to talk about today?"

"Well no armies are massing at Vaughn's estate and green smoke has yet to belch from his chimney stacks, so I'd say whatever conspiracy they are brewing is still in its infancy."

Alistair laughed. "Teagan!"

His uncle's eyes twinkled with humour. "You looked like you needed a laugh."

Alistair still chuckled and he felt some of the tension easing from his shoulders. "I did, and that was funny! Though green smoke," he shuddered, "would not be so amusing."

Teagan chuckled and settled in what had become his customary chair, the one across from Leliana's, the one Eamon used to occupy. His thoughts drifted to Eamon's wife and Alistair lifted his gaze from the chair and asked, "How is Isolde?"

Teagan raised his brows. The strained relationship between the former Arlessa and the King was no great secret. "She is well, Alistair. She spends a lot of time at the tower visiting with Connor. Irving is," Teagan paused and that twinkle entered his eyes again, "Bemused by her presence, I think."

Alistair laughed again. "Teagan, you are in fine form this morning! Perhaps you may lend some of your humour to the situation in South Reach."

Arl Bryland had passed away six months before the siblings had yet to settle who would take his place. Apparently he had died without naming a specific heir. Teagan reached forward and pointed out a tightly furled and sealed note to one side of his desk. "Latest petition from the lady herself! I am sure Habren's latest missive will provide its own form of comic relief."

He handed it over and Alistair tried not to groan as he took it, broke the seal and read it. Then he did groan. Looking up at Teagan he said, "She's pregnant again and seems to think this further qualifies her to run the arling. Here, let me read you this bit: 'Now that I am on the cusp of producing a second heir.' I don't know whether to laugh or cry. Is she planning for the future of child yet to be born or for her own death?"

Alistair dropped the parchment and watched it roll back upon itself as he sighed. His feet danced beneath the desk and he glanced restlessly about his office before meeting Teagan's eye once more. "Is it sunny yet?"

##

The following day dawned brightly, but the promise of sunshine did little to relieve the nagging sense of unease that settled behind his eyes and in the pit of his stomach. He scrubbed at his cheeks and massaged his temples before reaching for his breakfast.

"You do not look well, Alistair."

"I don't feel well. I hope I'm not getting sick." He glanced up at Luke. "If I don't collect you for practice this afternoon I'll be in my bed moaning and clutching my head, being appropriately dramatic."

Luke chuckled.

A servant he did not recognise entered the dining room, balancing a tray rather inexpertly in front of herself. Luke stood and helped her steady the tray, guiding it to the table. She blushed and curtsied and stammered apologies, "I'm sorry m'lord. I'm from the kitchens, I hope I didn't spill anything."

Luke smiled brightly at her. "It's alright, miss."

Alistair asked, "Where is Lena this morning?"

Being addressed by the King apparently robbed her of words and she stared at him for a moment, eyes wide. Alistair tried is friendliest smile and she appeared to relax and clearing her throat unleashed what at first sounded like a torrent of kitchen gossip. "Ah, your majesty, well, it's her son, your see, he is married to…" Alistair tried to pay attention, but she went on and on and his attention wandered until she said something that immediately had him tuning back into her endless explanation. "…sick. And she's not the only one; two of the maids from upstairs didn't show up this morning either."

The mention of sickness stirred the uneasiness in his gut and he actually lost his appetite. Turning to Brenna he asked, "Did the woman, the one who helps you in the orphanage, did she show up yesterday?"

Brenna frowned. "No, she didn't."

"Have you heard of any sickness in the city?" Late summer often brought with it a bout of sickness as the heat of the day swarmed over festering garbage and unkempt yards. This was one of the issues Vaughn was supposed to be on top of and Alistair clenched his fist in irritation at the thought the man might be plotting instead of planning.

"I have not. I hadn't planned on going to the orphanage today, but I can send a messenger, enquire?"

Alistair nodded. "Why don't you do that? It might be nothing, maybe it's just that I don't feel well myself." That would be it, he decided and rubbing his head again and he forced himself to eat breakfast.

The sunlight hurt his eyes as he and Luke made their way to the Fort later that afternoon. His headache had not abated and even Luke seemed to be squinting in the bright light. Zevran stepped lightly to his side and tapped him on the shoulder. "You look as if you carry all of Thedas on your shoulders this afternoon, Alistair. Perhaps I may challenge you to a match, yes? Take your mind of all this kingly business for a while."

"Me! Zev, play with me!"

Alistair grinned as he and Zevran looked down to watch Riordan plant his feet and put his hands on his hips. Luke grabbed at his hand and tried to urge him forward but the little boy refused to be moved.

Alistair raised his brows. "I can't imagine either Aedan or Leliana being this stubborn as children. I wonder where he gets it from."

Luke resorted to tickling the boy and he collapsed in giggles so Luke picked up and threw him over his shoulders and carried him the rest of the way to the Fort. This would be the first time they'd taken Rory with them for an afternoon training session and he seemed cheerful enough without the company of his sister.

Oghren was in the yard and he swept Rory into his arms and the little boy chuckled happily. Alistair looked on with a smile. Oghren had refused to talk to Aedan for a year after he had refused to make him a Grey Warden, which, in retrospect, had not been a hard feat to accomplish as Aedan had only visited Denerim four times that year. Alistair had resorted to locking them in a room together on the fourth visit and had left instructions for them not to emerge until they had sorted out their differences. They had.

"Alistair," Oghren called as he put the boy down again and stepped toward him, grasping his arm firmly. "You'll want to get yer trainin' in quickly today, there's some mean lookin' clouds to the west."

Glancing over his shoulder Alistair spotted the late summer storm rolling in and the furled tension in the dark clouds matched the pulse behind his eyes. He nodded and turned back to the yard. "Let's get to it then."

Alistair sparred with Zevran first and it was a lighthearted and friendly match, neither of them trying terribly hard to slip under each other's guard, they played more for exercise than anything else. As usual, Zevran kept up a stream of distracting banter and before long, Alistair felt his head clear and his anxiety begin to fade.

They took a break and Rory demanded his turn. Luke had equipped him with the lightest wood practice blade, one meant to resemble a short sword and all the surrounding soldiers laughed as the little boy dragged it point first through the dirt and tried to swing it. Zevran hopped up and grabbed a similar weapon and began aiming gentle strikes at Rory and the little boy laughed and giggled, causing all of them to do the same. The wistfulness washed through Alistair then, the longing for a son, and he felt his smile fading as he watched Aedan's little boy lift his blade and attempt to poke it at the elf.

As he stepped to the side, intending to sit on one of the benches lining the back wall of the yard, a tremor passed through the soles of his boots. Alistair looked down. It had been so slight, he hadn't been sure he felt it until he noticed Zevran also looking at his boots. They looked up and caught one another's eye. Zevran shrugged lightly and went back to 'sparring with Rory' and Luke asked him for a match and so Alistair put aside his mood and stepped out into the yard again.

Fighting Luke was just like fighting Aedan, their styles were so similar. It had tickled both of them at first that Luke insisted on learning to dual wield, but as he'd grown, both men had had to admit it suited him, both his build and his personality. He had just blocked a dual sweep with his shield, the force of the young man's blows jarring his arm a little when he sensed a tremor through his feet again. Luke obviously felt it this time too as he stopped and looked down.

Luke glanced up and raised his brows. "Did you feel that?"

Alistair slipped his shield from his arm and handed it to Luke. Spinning on his heel he called to Oghren, "Do you feel the ground moving?"

Oghren laughed and cast a sly look in his direction. "Not lately, Felsi's still nursin' yer namesake, won't let me in the sodding bed!"

Alistair flushed and tried not to laugh, then shook his head and smiled. They were all waiting in amused anticipation to see what Oghren might name his third child, if Felsi ever let him in her bed again.

"I'm going to head inside and speak to the Colonel. Perhaps he knows what is causing these tremors." Were they remodeling the dungeon?

Peter met him on the steps leading to the great doors, a frown already in place. He crossed his arms and bowed. "Your majesty."

"Peter, I was just coming to see you. The tremors, are they coming from inside the Fort?"

The Colonel frowned. "Tremors? No, your majesty." He pointed toward the advancing storm clouds and as he did so, the first gusts of wind swept into the yard, swirling the dust and rattling the rows of wooden weapons leaning against their racks. "I need to speak with Oghren, two more men asked to go home today, something about sick relatives. I don't suppose you've any news of a sickness in the city."

Alarm swept through Alistair as the clouds moved over the city, their shadow advancing across the ground toward the entrance to the Fort. "Not officially, but staff are missing from the palace," he paused and added almost as an afterthought, "and the orphanage."

The wind picked up and he heard the bustle behind him as men started stowing equipment. Turning, he beckoned Luke over. "Let's head inside the fort until the storm has passed, will you grab Rory?"

Oghren had already picked the little boy up and as the first fat drops of rain plunked to the ground, raising puffs of dust, the men and soldiers all made for the interior of the fort, breaking into a run as they ascended the stairs. Zevran slipped through the great doors last and Peter ordered them closed. The full fury of the storm hit the great wooden doors just as they banged shut and they rattled before the onslaught before sealing properly. Thunder boomed and Rory buried whimpered and held his arms out to Luke.

Taking his little brother from the dwarf Luke looked up and said, "I'm going to take him well inside where he can't hear the thunder."

Alistair nodded. "Good idea. We'll come find you later." Touching the colonel's arm, he turned. "Peter, can you tell me where in the city these men had their families?"

Zevran and Oghren followed as Peter led them to his office and sorted through his collection of maps before pulling out records. Oghren started spreading out the maps and Peter started reading out names and addresses. Alistair could still hear the thunder booming faintly through the thick stone walls as Zevran dropped his finger onto each location in turn. All of them, every single one, were in a district southwest of the Arl of Denerim's estate.

A chill descended Alistair's spine as he said, "Gentlemen, it seems we have a late summer plague on our hands. We need to make every effort to contain this. Hopefully this afternoon's storm will help wash the streets clean, but we will need to bolster the city guard, help keep order and try to quarantine the residents."

A loud clap of thunder fairly shook the stone of the Fort and Alistair felt the ground tremble beneath is feet once more.


	9. Circles

Circles

Aedan watched Leliana pace up and down in front of the couch and stood to intercept her. "Hey, pacing is my job, remember?"

Wrapping his arms about her, he gave her a hug and she leaned into him. "Are you sure you want me to stay?" she murmured against his chest.

Pulling back, Aedan lifted her chin and kissed her. "Yes, I want you to stay. Maker, I need you to stay." He then considered the fact that she might not want to stay; she had spent the bulk of her day yesterday in Morrigan's company. Drawing his brows down, he softened his voice. "Unless you don't want to… I'd understand if you didn't."

Leliana took a deep breath and clasped both his hands in hers. "I will stay. We will do this together."

Aedan blew out the breath he'd been holding and hugged her all over again. "Thank you, Leli." Pressing his lips to the top of her head he said quietly, "Why are we so nervous? She was our companion for a year, our friend."

Did he seek to reassure Leliana or himself? He could only begin to imagine what must be going through her mind. Though she and Morrigan had formed a friendship of sorts, they'd never been close, and then there was the matter of Cian.

Yesterday they had escaped the tea party in the garden as quickly as had been polite and as Aedan led Leliana across the lawn toward the guest wing of the palace he'd had to remind himself several times not to run. He could feel the party watching them walk away, all of them, and it made his skin crawl. He needed to get behind a door and as soon as he had, he pulled Leliana into his arms and they stood together, catching their breath, both of them feeling shaken.

After returning to their room, they had both been quiet, subdued. They ordered supper to be sent up rather than venturing down to the dining room and they retired early, but once the lamps had gone out and they lay in each other's arms, Aedan had felt the familiar restlessness, and not from himself. He prompted Leliana to talk and she finally did, telling him how confused she felt, how off balance.

"I wish I'd been there for you, love," he'd said and she had smiled and kissed him.

"I know you do. But then you may not have gone back to the cliff and the Maker may not have spoken to you. These things happen for a reason."

He had told her about his morning and she listened with her breath held and wonder in her eyes. He felt silly describing the breeze, but she grabbed his hands and exclaimed that she had known it would be a special place for him too.

Leliana fell asleep and he lay awake going over his own confusion. He still could not quite believe he'd met Cian. After Rory had been born, Cian had faded from his thoughts. He would remember his other son at odd moments, but as life took over, as his obsession had taken hold, he'd thought of little other than Luke and darkspawn for the past few years. A part of him had rejoiced at meeting his first born and yet he'd not felt the urge to embrace the child as he would Riordan, or Grace and Luke. Cian had felt removed from him and despite his looks, not a part of him. He fell asleep with all of his children on his mind.

Now, with the late morning sunshine streaming through the balcony doors they awaited Morrigan's arrival. She had asked to visit with them, nonchalantly, while at tea yesterday afternoon and Celene had declared that the companions must spend the morning together, renewing their acquaintance.

A knock at the door snapped Aedan out of his reverie and he gently hugged Leliana one more time before going to answer it. As he stepped away from her, she caught his hand and moved forward with him. The opened the door together.

Morrigan stood there, hands clasped before dress in much the same gesture Leliana often used when she was nervous. Aedan raised a brow before he smiled, weakly, but in what he hoped might be a friendly way. "Good morning, Morrigan."

Morrigan met his eyes, glanced at Leliana, and then returned her gaze to his once more. "And a good morning to you as well, Aedan," she nodded toward Leliana, "Leliana."

Aedan stepped back, allowing Morrigan to enter the room. "Please come in."

They all stood awkwardly in the foyer of the suite for a moment before Morrigan eyed their joined hands and smiled. "'Tis sweet that you two still hold hands."

Uncertainty robbed Aedan of an appropriate response. Of all the things Morrigan might have said upon arriving, this was unexpected. What perplexed him more was her tone; she obviously meant what she said. He tightened his fingers over Leliana's in response and beckoned Morrigan toward the sitting area, choosing the couch for himself and Leliana, while Morrigan sat across from them in one of the softly upholstered chairs.

Awkward silence filled the air for a few moments while the three of them collected their thoughts, and then Aedan finally cleared this throat. He would speak plainly, the way he knew best. "Morrigan, I'm glad to see you looking well." And he was, he harbored no ill will toward the witch, she had saved his life twice, they had parted on good terms. He hesitated before continuing. "I, I enjoyed meeting Cian yesterday."

"He enjoyed meeting you, Aedan. He has been looking forward to it for several months now."

Aedan blinked and he felt Leliana's fingers tighten over his own. Choosing his words carefully, he responded. "He seems to be a rather perceptive child."

Morrigan chuckled. "He is at that."

"He struck me as a happy child, Morrigan." He wanted to say that despite the maturity of his voice, and his thoughts, that Cian had seemed like a normal child, but he knew he wasn't.

"Cian is happy when he gets his way." Morrigan glanced at Leliana and said in a confidential tone, mother to mother, "As are all children, I think."

Leliana smiled. "This is true. Where is he this morning?"

"At his lessons, with Marie."

Aedan relaxed a little as they conversed. It did seem they were old friends catching up, which, he reflected, really they were. Except for the existence of Cian, and his significance.

They shared some lunch and exchanged news. Morrigan asked after Alistair, Oghren and Zevran and seemed properly interested in hearing about marriages and children and Zevran's brother. They talked seriously of the darkspawn threat and the architect and Aedan felt the familiar rush of tension as Morrigan asked pressing questions about the intelligent darkspawn. Reaching for his focus, he managed a semblance of composure and avoided mentioning Luke and how he had become tainted.

"Cian told me about Luke, Aedan. I was sorry to hear it."

Aedan fell silent and simply stared at her. The anxiety stirred again and Aedan knew it was on his face. He looked down and then away, but not before he saw Leliana and Morrigan exchange a look. As if the calmness of the morning, the normalcy of their conversation to this point had been stripped away, Aedan turned back to Morrigan, his forehead creased in a frown. "Does he always know so much?"

"No, not always. His… talent is unpredictable at best. And he tends to focus on certain people. You, for instance."

"He mentioned that he dreamed of me." Aedan held his breath.

Morrigan chuckled. "He does." She glanced from him to Leliana. "He dreams of you both, and your children. When he first started describing Riordan to me I fancied he had made him up, wishful thinking, the desire to have a sibling."

Aedan began to feel more disturbed. He did not like the idea of this child dreaming of him and his family, it felt too intrusive. He didn't know if his reaction stemmed from the rising tension inside him or not, but it only added to his anxiety. His templar techniques were starting to lose their effectiveness and he found his hands had curled into fists.

Morrigan continued. "Then he started to talk about Luke. He kept telling me that Luke was in trouble and that you were very sad. Then more recently, Grace." Morrigan frowned here, and pursed her lips. "I have a wonder, if you would indulge me."

Aedan glanced at Leliana and then back at Morrigan. He nodded, gesturing her to continue.

"Where did Grace come from? She is not… yours?"

"I found her." In the village were Luke was tainted. Aedan could feel the familiar ringing in his ears. Was this part of the Maker's plan? Is this how he would rid himself of the guilt -- by having to talk and think about Luke every day? It hadn't been like this at the Vigil, he could look at Luke without remembering, almost. Had he really buried it that deeply? Aedan shook his head and refocused on the conversation.

"Why have you asked about Grace, Morrigan?" Leliana asked.

Morrigan shrugged lightly and drew in upon herself, saying only, "I had not thought it possible for you to have another child is all."

Leliana tilted her head and Aedan could almost hear his wife thinking. He also felt Morrigan hid something from them, but he knew she would not respond well to being pushed. Their old companion had already been more open with them today than she ever had been in the past. Was it their bond from the past, or simply that motherhood had softened her, opened her somehow? But now she had closed the door again. She had pressed on the matter of the talking darkspawn, she had asked about their children, and how she hid something from them, he was sure of it.

Aedan decided the time for small talk had passed. "Why are you in Orlais, Morrigan?"

Leliana made a shocked sound and Morrigan chuckled. "Finally you get to the point."

Aedan spread his hands. "Morrigan, I meant what I said earlier." He sighed. "I am happy you are well, that Cian is well. But you have obviously been here for some time. You knew Alistair would be visiting Celene…" he paused here as he imagined what his friend's reaction to seeing Morrigan might have been. "We, or maybe just I, never expected to see you again. Why the change of heart?"

"Am I not allowed to come in from the cold, Aedan? Did you expect I might confine myself to living in a hut in the wilds?"

Shrugging, Aedan responded, "I honestly can't answer that. I…" tried not to give it too much thought? "I just didn't imagine you here."

"You think your wife is the only one capable of advising a monarch?"

Tension furled inside him as Morrigan continued to bait and avoid the question.

Leliana sat forward. "Morrigan, if you do not wish to answer, so be it, but, we are friends, are we not? We have shared conversation and tea, we have discussed our children, surreal as it may seem. You must admit, however, that your presence here is unexpected."

Taking his cue from Leliana's calm and reasonable tone, Aedan tried to apologise. "Morrigan, I did not mean to infer that you were incapable of such a role."

Morrigan relaxed and nodded. "Apology accepted." She glanced at her hands before speaking again. "If you must know, I am here for Cian. An itinerant life is no good for a child, and he babbled so constantly about you," she waved a hand in his direction, "and your children and how they had a home and were together. And then an opportunity presented itself, and I followed it here. Cian's prescience can be quite useful, you see."

An opportunity? Of what did she speak? A shiver descended Aedan's spine and he sat forward. "How long have you been here?"

"Two years, Aedan."

Aedan stared at her. "As an advisor?"

"Do you find it so surprising?"

"No, Morrigan, I don't." Aedan regarded her seriously a moment before continuing. "Celene's has not had the best luck with her advisors."

"Are you worried for my well being or suggesting I had something to do with Arnault's death?"

Leliana turned to frown at him. "Aedan, I really do not think…"

Aedan realised he had lost the ability to think rationally. He was too keyed up about Luke, their talk of darkspawn and trying to understand why Cian knew so much about him and his family. Added to that was everything Morrigan held back, wasn't telling them. The morning's conversations had started circling inside his head. He waved his hand at both of them. "If you'll both excuse me, I think I need some air." He stood up. "Morrigan," he shook his head, "I didn't mean… I'm sorry."

Morrigan stood also. "Perhaps we have talked enough for today."

"Will you be at the ball tonight?" Leliana asked.

Morrigan laughed. "No. I imagine you will enjoy it, however." She tilted her head and clasped together her hands together. "If you'd like to talk again, Aedan, or if you'd like to spend time with Cian," here she paused and glanced at Leliana, "well, you know how to find me."

Leliana saw Morrigan to the door and Aedan stepped out on to the balcony. He gripped the rail with his hands and tried to pinpoint why he had said what he had. It had been tactless and probably pointless, but Morrigan had always left him off balance and obviously she still had the ability to do so. She never spoke plainly. The peace he had achieved yesterday had well and truly fled and he gazed out over the city toward the cliff, wondering if he had time to make it there and back before they were due at dinner, and afterward, of course, was the ball.

Leliana placed a hand on his arm and he flinched, he'd been so lost in his thoughts.

"Aedan, are you alright?"

"No, I am not." He wanted to be alone, he realised, and he flushed with guilt at the impulse. Leliana was always there for him, but right now he just wanted to think, not discuss. But he didn't know what to think about first, who to think about. So many thoughts and emotions clamored for attention that he was tempted to clap his hands over his ears and yell for silence.

She uncurled his fingers and tugged at his hand. "Come on."

"Leli, I don't want to talk…"

"I know. You need to hit something. Let's go to the yard."

Aedan followed her to the armory where their weapons and armour had been stored. He had brought his because he had come away on Grey Warden business. Leliana always traveled with her leathers and her daggers and she had arrived at Amaranthine with them already packed. She let him brood in silence as they changed into their gear and equipped their blades and as they stepped into the yard, the captain of Celene's chevaliers greeted them cordially and motioned them to a place where they could warm up and spar without disturbing his own men. After they moved through a series of blocks and strikes Leliana began to taunt him, deliberately bait him. He frowned at her and refused to press until she slipped through his guard and whacked him soundly with the flat of her blade.

When she did it a second time, he let go and lunged at her, letting his anger fuel his strike. Leliana blocked and spun, hitting him on the back of the legs, her blade clanking against his armoured plates. He growled. "Stop, Leli."

"No." She struck again, a sweep with both her weapons that pushed him back.

"Why are you doing this?"

"Because we don't have time to walk to the cliff."

He didn't even try to block her next strike, felt it reverberate through his armour. "I don't want you to see my anger."

"Aedan, I want to see it. Show it to me and then we'll deal with it."

He was on the point of dropping his blades and walking away from her, when she kicked him in the gut. The move so shocked him that he brought both his weapons up defensively and then pressed forward in a sweep and before she had finished deflecting his blows he moved into a flurry, letting his anger take hold. She caught every single strike and then turned the match against him, making him defend and move back and so it went back and forth until he forgot to think about anything but blocking, striking, looking for holes in her defense, spinning away from her lightning fast blades.

He forgot who he fought against and gave the match his all, feeling the need to claim victory over something, anything, and inscribe order upon a day that had spun beyond his control. Overpowering his opponent at last he knocked her to the ground. When he realised what he'd done, Aedan dropped his blades and went to bend over her, help her up, and her boot connected with him, hurling him backwards. The move so surprised him that he lost his balance and went down, cracking his head against the packed earth of the yard. He tasted blood in his mouth and rolled his head to spit out a clot, his tongue exploring the inside of his cheek. He'd bitten it as he hit the ground. A head blocked his view of the sky and he blinked up at Leliana.

"Are you alright?" Her voice was low and concerned.

Aedan grinned, saw an answering smile twitch the corners of her mouth and then he laughed. He lay in the dirt and laughed. His anger dissipated, his balance restored. Leliana sank down beside him, crouching at his side and she bit her lips over a grin until she could hold off no longer. She chuckled along with him. When he could breathe without chuckling, he rolled to his side and picked himself up off the ground and then he hugged her to his armoured self, kissed her.

Pulling back, she touched his lip. "You're bleeding."

"It's alright. Wow, Leli… you are amazing. I can't believe you kicked me to the ground." He laughed again.

She chuckled. "Well you did knock me down first."

"Are you alright?"

"I landed much more gracefully than you."

Shaking his head, he hugged her again. "My wife kicked me to the dust!" he exclaimed to the couple of chevaliers that had stopped to see if he had suffered any injury, apparently he'd bitten his lip as well. They laughed good naturedly and patted him on the shoulder.

Aedan gazed at her face, her skin shone with the sweat of their exertions, the glow of health and she had a dusty streak across one cheek. She looked beautiful. He took Leliana's hand and leaned down to whisper to her, "Do we have time for more exercise before dinner?"

Leliana grinned and tugged on his hand. "Come on!"


	10. The Arl of Denerim

The Arl of Denerim

The storm passed almost as quickly as it had come upon them and by the time the large wooden doors of the Fort were eased open again, Alistair and Oghren had a team of men ready.

"Your majesty, I can accompany the Commander into the city. You need not concern yourself…"

Alistair held up a hand. He knew Peter meant well, only feared for the health of his king, and so he kept his tone gentle. "I'll not hide in the palace while the city sickens. I helped rebuild Denerim with my bare hands, this I will do too."

Really, this should have been Vaughn's job, but Alistair couldn't afford to let his thoughts run away from him now. Disease did not follow the whim of politics; likely the Arl's plotting had little to do with the failure of some citizens to properly dispose of their garbage or a tainted water supply. He would stop by Vaughn's estate on his way, just to make sure the Arl was made aware of the situation.

Catching sight of Zevran ascending the stairs from the dungeons, Alistair beckoned the elf to his side. "Zev, would you accompany me to the south east quarter, or remain here with Luke?"

Zevran glanced about the dark interior of the fort as if assessing the threat of the stone itself before casting his eyes back to Alistair with a short nod. "I will come with you, Alistair. I have seen much plague in Antiva. I may be of some assistance."

Alistair nodded and clapped his elven friend on the shoulder. "I'll tell Luke to meet us back at the palace. I would not risk the Commander's wrath by taking them into the city with us."

Zevran chuckled and moved off to talk with the group of men collecting by the door and Alistair went to find Luke. He found the young Warden sitting on the stairs leading to the dungeons and raised his brow at the odd location.

"We couldn't hear the thunder down here," Luke explained. Rory's little brow was furrowed in concentration as he tried to jump two steps at once and when he succeeded, Luke patted his shoulder and grinned. "Now try three!"

"When Rory has finished conquering his mountain, will you take him back to the palace?" Alistair handed Luke a folded slip of paper. "And pass this to Brenna for me, would you? Tell her I might miss dinner."

"Sure." Luke pocketed the note with a serious expression. "You're going down to the south east quarter?" The young man's tone said it all: Brenna won't like that.

"Tell Brenna not to worry."

Luke considered him a moment and then said, "You sounded like Aedan then."

They shared a half smile and Alistair nodded. "I'm not going underground, Luke. I'll see you later?"

Luke raised a hand in farewell and turned back to his younger brother.

Alistair met the soldiers at the door and Oghren grunted, an order his men apparently understood as they formed into two short columns of five men each and began to march through the large hall to the front of the Fort. Glancing at Zevran, Alistair raised a brow, the elf raised one in return and they hurried to catch up.

The soldiers paused at the gates, allowing their Commander and King to step to the lead while Zevran maintained a flanking position, following their procession off to the side, his head swiveling, his eyes seeming to touch every stone, window and door as they made their way south.

As they approached Vaughn's estate, Alistair couldn't help looking upwards, scanning the chimney stacks. Finding they belched no smoke at all served to offer little relief as they marched past the outer wall and toward the front gate. The guards snapped to attention as soon as they recognised their King and his Commander and Alistair entertained the brief notion that perhaps he might look a little threatening, approaching Vaughn with a contingent of men at his back.

Oghren seemed to suffer no such compunction. "Go get Vaughn, man! Can't you see His Majesty wishes to see him?"

One of the guards strode for the front door, but Alistair chose to remain outside. He did not have fond memories of the Arl of Denerim's estate and didn't care if he ever saw the interior, particularly the front hall, again. Shortly, the door opened again, revealing Bann Ceorlic, not Vaughn. The elderly Bann stepped forward and bowed, arms crossed, in the formal and proper fashion before offering a greeting.

"Your majesty, Vaughn sends his apologies that he cannot greet you personally. He has taken ill. Is there a message I might convey to him for you?"

Alistair's mouth went dry and he peered at Ceorlic, looking for any hint of sickness. Taking an involuntary step back, he cleared his throat. "In fact my visit today regards a disease in this quarter of the city. Can you tell us his symptoms, and how long he has been sick?" Does his head pound and is there a queasy feeling in his stomach? Sweat beaded his brow, whether from the warmth of the day, his nervousness, or some dire fever, Alistair could not tell.

An expression of distaste crossed the elderly Bann's face and he wrung his hands. "It's a rash. He has confined himself to his room, but already two of the servants seem to have it. I would advise against going to see him, in fact, I am about to return to Lowlands myself." He shook his head. "I cannot abide the city in the summer, if it's not the spewing sickness it's the itching rash." Glancing up, he frowned. "But Vaughn has not complained of an itch. Never the less, I will leave today. Mind, I will be return for the Landsmeet, your majesty."

"I think it would be best if you stayed here, Ceorlic. I am placing this portion of the city under quarantine." As of now. He had had to quarantine a section of the city two summers ago, for the 'spewing sickness' as Ceorlic so eloquently put it. While cutting off a section of the city felt cruel, Alistair knew it was a necessary step to stop the spread of disease. Turning to Oghren, he continued. "Commander, please station half of your men here with instructions that no one is to leave Vaughn's estate."

"Right, your majesty." Oghren turned to bellow orders, louder than necessary, obviously taking delight in Ceorlic's pathetic wailing.

"You can't be serious? I will not remain here and succumb to this filth. His skin looks like leather, dark leather!" Ceorlic's voice had risen to a high whine.

"Sounds like the Dryland Pox," Zevran murmured softly behind him. "Horribly disfiguring, but not deadly, so far as I know. Hm, it is highly contagious, but usually strikes more rural areas."

Alistair had an uneasy feeling in his gut. Shifting on his feet, he nodded his head toward Ceorlic. "I'm sorry, but my order stands. I will send for our healers and we will do what we can, as soon as possible. You have my word."

Alistair strode towards the gates, but a hand caught his arm. Turning, he saw Zevran standing there and the elf only tightened his grip.

"Alistair, we should go no further. While you would recover from the rash, there is another side effect to the pox." Zevran allowed his eyes to drift downward. "You would likely never conceive an heir."

Alistair stopped still. His stomach roiled and he could feel sweat trickling down the back of his neck. The pounding had started behind his temples again and he clenched his fists. Two and a half years and he and Brenna still had no child. He had been a Warden for over six. His shoulders slumped and he closed his eyes a moment and drew in a deep breath. When he blew it out, he had decided.

"I have spent the last five years helping rebuild this city, this nation. I have worked side by side with these people. I have drunk in their taverns. I will not abandon them now."

Zevran nodded, his expression unreadable. "As you wish."

"Zev, if you would rather stay here…"

The former assassin uttered a harsh laugh. "Lead on, my friend."

Alistair turned back toward the gate and a wave of nausea washed over him. He swallowed and wiped at his forehead with the back of his hand. His uneasiness had a familiar feel to it now, as if he remembered having this sickness before. His mind quested for the memory, but he could not remember ever having suffered a rash, dark or otherwise. Before he could start towards the gate again, a small crowd rounded the large stone pillar and a cry rose up from the soldiers stationed there.

"Stay back!"

The crowd parted and a single figure stepped forward. A young woman, her cheeks pink and flushed with fury and apparent health, though the same could not be said for two of her companions.

"Please," she said to the guard in front of her. "We must see the Arl, people are dying."

Alistair turned to Zevran. "I thought you said this pox wasn't fatal."

"It is not, and they do not have the pox, my friend."

Alistair stepped forward and many in the crowd recognized their king and crossed their arms in salute. As heads bobbed and bodies bent forward, Alistair glimpsed the face of a man in the middle of their group and his breath caught in his throat as the sun reflected off the silvery sheen of his eyes.

All of a sudden his symptoms made sense. What he felt was not the onset of some sickness, or disease, but something he'd not encountered, except for the slight brush of a fellow Warden, in five years.

He glanced at Zevran and saw the knowledge reflected in his friend's eyes. He yelled for Oghren. "Commander! If you please…" he indicated that the dwarf should approach.

Oghren knew, he could see it in his expression. "By the stone, they've the look of that poor sod we met in the Deep Roads, what was his name?"

Ruck, Alistair thought. Grasping Oghren's shoulder he nodded toward the soldiers. "We need more men, and we need to send a message to Vigil's Keep. Summon the Wardens, these people have been tainted."

Alistair's mind whirled; he'd covered the two most important aspects right away, more soldiers and Wardens. But what to do about these people? He knew of no cure for the taint, well, there was one, but they couldn't exactly start putting ordinary citizens through the Joining, and that man was already too far gone. How, why? How did they become tainted and why had some died and others' not? A shiver crept down his spine as he recalled Aedan's descriptions of the tainted village and the people and 'test subjects' they'd found in the underground laboratories.

Holy Maker, had these people been tainted on purpose? Someone tapped at his gauntleted arm and Alistair turned in a daze to see Zevran speaking to him. "Alistair?"

"Zev, sorry, you were saying?"

"I had suggested we should perhaps head inside after all, assess the Arl's condition to make sure we do not have a plague on our hands as well."

Alistair nodded. It was a sensible idea. "Agreed. We need a plan."

The next hour passed in a blur. Alistair founding himself drawing on his templar focus more urgently as time passed. He couldn't afford to sit and think it all through right now, they had plans to make. Oghren arrived back at Vaughn's estate with what looked to be half the soldiers stationed at Fort Drakon. While the sight of so many armored men might alarm many of the citizens, they represented action and order to Alistair and he calmed a little on seeing them. He beckoned his Commander and Oghren strode over, stopping twice to answer questions from the men.

"What do you need, your majesty?" The dwarf's tone and stature now properly reflected his position and the situation and Alistair appreciated the respectful demeanor, the time for lighthearted banter had passed.

Alistair outlined the plans they had made while gathering men. His first question: "A message has been sent to Amaranthine?"

"Yes, by horseback." Oghren frowned. "It will be three days before we see them, Alistair."

Alistair felt sick. "I know. Here's what we're going to do."

They would send men into the city where these people lived. Alistair clenched his jaw as he detailed their specific instructions. "We need to collect everyone who is tainted. Everyone." He closed his eyes, unable to name their fate. When he opened them again, Oghren raised a brow. "Bring them here. Tell them… tell them we will care for them here."

Alistair had always understood, thought he understood, what Aedan and his Wardens had felt when they had cleared that village and burned it. He'd understood the need for the Wardens to cleanse the underground laboratories of their residents, and all denizens of the Deep Roads. But these were his people, the citizens of Denerim and he would be herding them here and killing them. Swallowing over the bitter taste in the back of this throat, Alistair tried to continue, but found he couldn't.

"Shouldn't we be sending for the mages?" asked one of the captains.

Alistair paled and Zevran stepped immediately to his side. "Are you well, Alistair?"

No, he was not well. Nothing had prepared him for this, nothing. Alistair put a hand on Zevran's shoulder, more to steady himself than reassure the elf, and Zevran stood still, seeming to understand his need for support. Looking up at the captain, he said, "Yes, send for the mages."

They may as well. If anything, the mages might have a way to ease the suffering of the tainted. Perhaps there was a way to send them to the Maker that would not require spilling their blood. Pulling himself together, putting his templar discipline in to practice, Alistair assumed a mien of authority and moved on with his plans.

"In addition to assisting the victims we need to provide extra security to this quarter of the city." Pointing to the map spread out on the back of a wagon, he continued. "We need to establish a perimeter, a quarantine of sorts. This is not contagious, but until we find the source, no one goes in or out."

Oghren nodded and turned to relay these instructions to his men, his tone and manner equally gruff.

Alistair summoned the captain who had spoken up before. "James?" The man nodded. "You will lead a patrol inside Vaughn's estate. I want to know the condition of all residents and servants. Again, no one leaves."

After a few more assignments and instructions the meeting broke up and Alistair was left standing beside Zevran. He turned to the elf. "Will you come inside with me? I want to see Vaughn."

"I will."

The presence of the taint receded a little as the crowd at the gate dispersed; the two obviously sick sent inside, the healthy sent home. This did little to relieve Alistair of his own unease and ill feeling. The headache persisted as did the bitter taste in the back of his mouth. He longed again for a moment to sit down and consider the situation, to pore over the endless reports Aedan had sent regarding the tainted village and the laboratories. Too many thoughts fought for attention but two stood out. He had to kill innocent people and suddenly, Aedan's mental state made all the more sense.

As they approached the front door of the estate a commotion broke out down the path that led to the kitchens. Alistair remembered the path; it was how he and Aedan had infiltrated the building when attempting to rescue Anora. Pausing, he glanced in that direction and saw two guards hauling a slender man to his feet. Bann Ceorlic with a satchel clutched to his chest. Alistair felt a low growl form in the back of his throat as he stepped back down and confronted the elderly Bann.

"Going somewhere, Ceorlic?"

The man slumped and shot Alistair a pleading look, but remained mute. Fatigue settled across his shoulders as he nodded towards the guards, indicating they should take Ceorlic back inside. This would be but the first of many such instances.

Turning back towards Zevran he nodded toward the front door. "Let's get this over with."

A pall had settled over the air inside the estate. No servants scurried back and forth and a fine layer of dust had settled upon the suits of armour that lined the front hall. Dust rose from the cobbles and yards every day at this time of year and Alistair determined it had probably been only a matter of days since they had been attended to. But still, the room, the estate, had and unkempt air about it. No one came to meet them, no steward acknowledged their presence or offered to escort them.

Alistair remembered the way to the bedroom Howe had occupied and assumed Vaughn might have claimed it for his own. He stepped down the hallway toward it, passing the room where Anora had been kept, passing the alternate entrance to the dungeons and passing the hallway to the kitchens. He had not been inside this building for five years and yet he remembered it well, every corridor, every room. Vaughn had not even changed the arrangement of furniture so far as he could tell.

The door to the suite at the end of the hall was locked. Alistair raised a brow at Zevran and the elf cursed and pulled out his thieves' tools and fiddled with the lock for a few minutes, muttering softly in Antivan. Finally with a click, the lock turned and Zevran looked up with a small, but satisfied smile.

Alistair nodded his thanks and pushed open the door. The air in the room was stale and thick with the stench of bodily waste. Zevran coughed lightly and Alistair put his hand over his mouth. They walked through the darkened sitting room and into the bedroom, glancing first at the bed. It was empty. A shuffle drew their attention to the darkest corner, behind the desk and between the bookshelves. The faint light spilling through the doorway caught the silvery gleam of ghoulish eyes and Vaughn stepped out of the shadows. He looked about as far gone as the man in the crowd, what skin they could see covered in dark grey patches, the texture wrong. His hair had started to fall out.

"Thank the Maker," he said, shuffling forward. "Ceorlic locked me in here, I've been… Your majesty?" Vaughn stopped and crossed his arms in a bow as he recognised his savior and Alistair took a step backwards. How was this man still walking and talking? Why hadn't he died or gone mad?


	11. Hide and Seek

Hide and Seek

Luke leaned against the stone steps and listened to his little brother jumping up and down each riser, counting in his soft voice.

"One, two, three…"

Luke grinned at the little boy. Intense concentration furrowed his small brow, making him look more like his father than he usually did. It fascinated him that Rory was such a serious child while Grace usually bubbled with laughter. Not that Rory never laughed, he did all the time, but he often seemed so solemn and thoughtful. Luke and Leliana had often wondered aloud together if he at all resembled Aedan as a child. They had asked Fergus once and the Teyrn had considered the little boy for a few moments and then smiled. He informed the pair of them that Aedan had been much the same, and then warned them to start watching out for mischief around age five, apparently the thoughtful look would soon be a warning the little boy was making 'plans'.

Closing his eyes a moment, Luke allowed his mind to drift in another direction, his own recent past. He had recently bested Marin in a sparring match and he liked to go over the moves in his mind and remember how he'd scored his victory. It had taken him a long time to truly feel comfortable at the Keep. He had known that the other Wardens accepted him the moment he set foot through the gates, or before even, on the march from Denerim, but then they had discovered Amaranthine had been overrun by darkspawn and Aedan had literally locked him in his room for two months while he dealt with the horde, the Architect and the Mother.

Afterwards Luke had worked hard on his weapons skills and his training with the other Wardens, how to work side by side with a partner, how to move as part of a unit, how to take orders. Skills he'd had little inkling of as he'd worked to simply better his proficiency with his blades. Aedan had also insisted he read, not only about history, what was known about previous blights and the darkspawn in general, but politics and government. He had no idea why, and when he asked about it, Aedan had smiled and said, "Because I had to when I was your age."

That was good enough for him. Though there just over eleven years between them, Luke liked that Aedan treated him as a son; it made him feel secure, as if he had a place. And now that he had won a match against one of the older Wardens, he felt as if he'd properly earned his place amongst the order too.

If he could only convince Aedan to let him do more than patrol the Northern Highway, if only he could convince Aedan that he was a proper Warden, not an accident of circumstance. If he allowed himself to brood, Luke sometimes felt the limit of his thirty years, now less than twenty eight, and though he barely understood the desire to have children, he accepted that one day he might want to and that he most likely could not. But Luke always preferred to think on what he did have. He had a family that loved him; he had a brother and a sister. And he was a member of a revered order; he had a place with the Wardens and an important mission. All in all, he was satisfied with his life.

As his mind ranged further, Luke suddenly realised he could no longer hear Rory and he opened his eyes. The little boy was no longer on the stairs.

"Rory," he called out as he pushed himself off the stone steps and looked about himself. He could hear nothing. Peering into the dim dungeon below, Luke considered it more likely Rory had gone back upstairs. He ascended the stairs, calling out again. He heard a giggle and grinned, picking up his pace as he headed deeper into the Fort. "Are we playing hide and seek now, Rory?"

Entering a dining room he crouched down and looked beneath the table. Rory's blue eyes flashed in the dim shadow and his face broke into a smile. Luke got to his hands and knees and crawled under the table, chasing the little boy who started crawling and squealing. He caught him just as they came out the other side of the table and swept him into a hug.

"You are getting so big," he murmured quietly as he hefted the sturdy little figure in his arms. While he'd been living at the Keep he'd missed seeing Rory turn from a toddler into a little boy. He saw both Rory and Grace more often than Aedan did, but still he had enjoying spending more time with the pair of them this past week.

"You hide," Rory said and Luke smiled and put him down.

"Alright, we'll take a couple turns, and then we need to go back home and see Grace!"

All he got in reply was: "One, two, three…"

Luke chuckled and jogged towards the open door at the end of the room. He hid behind the door and waited until Rory got to ten, which was as high as the little boy could count, and not always consecutively.

"Ten! I'm coming Luke!"

It was hard not to laugh at the cuteness of it and Luke bit his lips over a chuckle as he listened to the little boy stepping towards the door. Every impulse tempted him to say 'boo' as Rory's head poked past the frame, but he restrained himself, not wanting to startle him after the thunder. Rory looked up at him and frowned. "You did not go far."

Luke laughed. "Your turn."

Rory grinned and ran to the end of the room. Luke hadn't been this far into the fort before and he kept an eye on the retreating figure as he counted, not to spoil the game, but so as he did not get properly lost. Rory turned a corner and Luke leaned out to see him just as he turned back and pointed. "No looking!"

Chuckling, Luke leaned back, but crept forward, out of sight of the far doorway, stopping when he got there and finishing his count. "Here I come!"

He stuck his head around the corner and saw a room with stairs leading up and down. A scuff led him downwards and he took the steps quickly, wanting to catch sight of Rory before he lost the little boy in the dim recesses of the fort. As placed his boot on the floor below he felt the stone tremble. Thunder? Did the storm still rage outside?

He glanced about at the room, which appeared to be simply a landing of sorts with a small seating area and two different staircases leading further down. Luke frowned as the considered the stairs. He'd already descended to about the level of the dungeon, he figured. How much further down did the Fort reach? He thought back to the history books he had read and remembered that the building was of Tevinter design and construction and actually predated the city of Denerim by hundreds of years. Luke picked up his pace and ran into the darkest corner of the room, finding only a small arrangement of tables. Panic started to swirl inside him and he called out, "Rory?"

Nothing but a quick scuffle answered him, and a rush of air, what felt like a warm breeze. Luke's skin prickled and a light sweat broke out across his forehead. His stomach flipped over and he immediately recognised the sensation. He could feel the taint. It was different to the sensation he got from living with other Wardens, the feeling that washed over him from being in close proximity to Aedan when the man giving him one of his crushing hugs. This was more persistent and …oilier? Not an undercurrent, but an overwhelming funk. The very same feeling he'd had the night the horde had tried to overrun Vigil's Keep a second time.

The floor trembled beneath his feet again and Luke ran to the closest staircase and pelted downward, calling for his little brother. "Rory! It's time to go home now…"

He tried to keep the panic from his voice, he didn't want to frighten the little boy, but it was hard, because he felt the fear himself. He didn't know why he could sense darkspawn beneath the fort, but as he descended further the sensation only grew stronger. The floor trembled again, not violently, more as if the ground was settling beneath him, recovering from a greater upheaval.

"Luke?"

The little voice sounded scared and Luke took a deep breath before replying. "Stay where you are Rory, don't move, I'm coming!"

The staircase led to a dark room and Luke cursed as he bumped his shoulder against a pillar. Dim light filtered down from the top of the stairs, but not enough to light the deeper recesses of the area. The air of the room seemed to be clouded with dust and it swirled about on the warm breeze that circulated throughout. The walls narrowed to a single jagged arch which opened onto what appeared to be a tunnel, the end of which he could not see. Rory's voice had come from the tunnel. The taint rolled out of the inky hole like an invisible cloud. Swallowing convulsively, Luke stepped toward the arch.

He noticed why the arch had such a jagged appearance when he got close to it. The sides were formed by two more columns just like the one he had bumped into and the middle had been a wall. The stone lay in a heap upon the ground, obviously the cause of the dust and the grit in the air.

"Rory?"

"Here!"

Luke stepped over the rubble and into the tunnel, which appeared to be a long corridor. He still couldn't see the little figure, but he sounded close. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness Luke could pick out niches lining the walls to each side. Each narrow alcove held a statue and he recognised neither the figures nor the sculptural style. Whatever they were, they were old, very old. He briefly wondered if they dated back to the Tevinter origins of the Fort. He heard footsteps and Rory crashed into his leg, wrapping his arms about his old linen pants and burying his face in the material. Luke had removed his armour after the sparring match and given the current swirl of taint and his rising panic, he wished he hadn't. He plucked Rory's hands from his pants and immediately crouched down to take the little boy in his arms. Rory was trembling.

"Hey, I'm here, it's alright now," he whispered softly, even though he did not feel it was 'alright now'.

"I heard something."

Luke stood up with Rory cradled against his chest. "Where?"

Rory pointed towards the end of the corridor, though it was obscured by darkness and shadow. Luke chewed on his lip. A large part of him screamed 'go back upstairs' while a smaller part of him whispered 'check out the noise'. Deciding discretion would be the better part of valor in this instance, Luke took a step backwards instead of forwards. "I'm going to take you back upstairs and then we'll bring some soldiers down here and check out that noise."

He felt a small but definite nod against his shoulder and he hugged his arms tighter about the little body and tried to walk confidently from the corridor. But as the floor trembled beneath is feet again, Luke gave into his fright and ran. He stumbled over the piled stone through the arch and had to put Rory down for fear of dropping him as he steadied himself. As soon he cleared the rubble, he scooped up the little boy and ran for the stairs.

Luke's heart thudded and he fully embraced his fear, it let it fuel his lungs and move his legs. He ascended the first staircase, crossed the landing and found the next. When he reached the top of that one, he became disoriented. He could not remember which door they had come through, or which direction he had crossed toward the stairs. Clutching Rory to his chest he swiveled his head from side to side and chose a direction. As he passed into another corridor he thought it looked familiar until the door at the end spilled out into an unfamiliar room, a dusty and disused armory, the racks lining the room mostly empty. Whirling, Luke ran back down the corridor and across the landing to the other door, only to be confronted by three more choices. Why hadn't he paid better attention?

He tried calling out, "Hello?" but only heard his voice echoing from the impassive stone walls and floors. Picking a direction he pelted down another corridor which led to a series of rooms. The first looked familiar, a long table, chairs, but the door on the opposite side was in the wrong place. Luke growled in frustration and stopped to put Rory down for a moment, his shoulders ached and his lungs heaved.

"This way, Luke." Rory pointed back the way they had come and Luke nodded.

The sensation of the taint had receded as soon as they'd cleared the second staircase but he it was almost as if he could still feel it below him, beneath the floor. He didn't know if fear simply gripped him or if the taint had become stronger. Either way, he needed to get to the Captain and tell him what he'd seen, heard and felt.

Feeling a little calmer he took Rory by the hand and tried to walk sedately out of the dining room and back into the landing and let his little brother lead him to the correct door, the dining room they had been in before. The two rooms adjoined and they could have passed through the other door to get there, but backtracking seemed to calm them both as it gave them a sense of moving properly towards their point of origin.

Luke wanted to run as they reached the area above the dungeon and he finally recognised familiar rooms and features. He bent to pick up Rory again and he jogged towards the stairs and back up to the short corridor that led to the Captain's office.

It was deserted. He turned and made his way to the cavernous hall where the siege engines were kept and stopped, stunned by the scene before him. Oghren stood there calling out orders, Peter at his side, and nearly all the soldiers stationed at the fort formed into teams before the two men. They were readying for action and Luke gaped. What had Alistair found in the city that had excited so much activity?

He stepped up to Peter's side and tried to get his attention, but the captain waved a hand in his direction, indicating he was too busy at the moment. Luke felt the urge to press, he wanted to tell them what he'd found, but suddenly he felt like a child holding another child in his arms in the face of all the organization before him and he stepped back and waited until Peter turned his attention to him.

Oghren did not even glance his way, but immediately began mobilizing half the men towards the end of the hall and out into the city.

"Where are they going, what did Alistair find?" In his combined panic and interest, Luke forgot to refer to his 'uncle' as the King, but Peter did not seem to notice.

The captain looked at him for a moment and then his expression changed as he seemed to remember who and what Luke was. "They found tainted people, Luke. It's not a plague at all, or at least we don't think so at the moment."

Luke nearly dropped Rory. Instead he bent down and set the little boy on the floor, but made sure to grab and hold his hand. He looked up at Peter and he knew his expression must have made him look younger than his nineteen years. He tried not to let his fear show; he tried to capture the demeanor of a Warden. "Peter, the trembling in the fort, I don't think the thunder caused it. There's a tunnel down there, a wall caved in and there's another corridor behind it and it's a different style to the rest of the fort and I couldn't see the end…"

"Slow down, lad. Tell me where you were."

Luke took a deep breath and tried to compose himself. Alistair had mentioned in passing that he would teach him some of the templar tricks he used for focus and he now wished they'd had their lesson. Instead he slowed his breathing and loosened his grip on Rory's hand and concentrated on sounding like an adult.

"The connected dining rooms on the other side of the dungeon."

Peter nodded, "Yes, we don't use those rooms; we don't have enough soldiers to fill them."

Luke continued. "There is a series of hallways at the end and staircases leading down."

"I know the place, they both lead down to a small room lined with pillars. But that's all." The captain frowned.

Luke immediately answered, "That's where the wall has given way, between two of the columns. I think it's an older part of the fort. But Captain, it's what I felt down there that worries me." That scared him.

"Felt?"

"The taint, Captain, darkspawn. Coming from the hallway. Not close, not in the hallway, beneath it, I think." Luke clenched his fists in frustration as he tried to describe what if felt like to sense the darkspawn to someone who couldn't feel it.

Peter considered him, his eyes calculating. He seemed to decide Luke had not succumbed to a flight of fancy when he gave a decisive nod. "I'll send some men down there to investigate." Glancing down at Rory he added, "You need to take your little brother back to the palace."

"But I should go with you, I can sense them, I'm a Warden!"

Peter frowned and cocked his head to one side. Luke could see him struggling to voice his thoughts and he knew what ran through the man's mind. If he sent Luke into the tunnel with his men and something happened to him, he'd have to answer to the Warden Commander.

The captain seemed to come to a decision and he clapped Luke on the shoulder. "For now will you take Rory home? When Alistair returns, we'll plan further."

Luke sighed, but nodded to the man, knowing he would only delay the investigation by arguing further at this point. "As you say, Captain."

Peter gripped his shoulder. "Luke, come back to the Fort when you've delivered Rory, alright? You and the King are the only two Wardens in Denerim right now. You will have a part to play."

Luke looked up and nodded, determination gripping him. "Yes, Captain."


	12. Masks

_A quiet chapter here, some of Leliana's thoughts, the introduction of some of the Orlesian players and a last dance. (Yes, I said last dance... don't let go, Leli, don't let go!)_

* * *

Masks

Leliana glanced at Aedan's sleeping form and smiled. They didn't have a lot of time left before dinner, but she didn't wake him yet, he looked so very peaceful and with him asleep, she felt calmer also. It would be nice to spend a few moments by herself as she started dressing for their evening. She sat at the dressing table and studied her reflection in the mirror. With a soft chuckle she scrubbed at the streak of dust that still covered her cheek and then stopped to look into her own eyes. As a bard she had learned to wear many masks and it had become a habit she'd only really let go of when in the company of her husband and her children. When had she started wearing one around Aedan again? Before this trip, certainly. Resting her elbows on the table she cupped her chin with her hands and let her face drop into repose.

The shadow entered her eyes then and the corners of her mouth turned down, not entirely, but enough to give her face a more serious expression. It had been quite a day. Once again she had spent the morning in Morrigan's company. Leliana couldn't get an exact read on her own feelings toward the witch. She had summoned a certain amount of sympathy for the woman over the years, knowing how hard it must be to care for a child on her own. She had also indulged in idle curiosity from time to time as she gazed at Riordan, wondering if Cian would resemble his brother, speculating on what sort of boy he might be, what sort of mother Morrigan might be. Now that most of her questions had been answered, she found herself somewhat relieved. Though a touch odd, and given his origin, this was to be expected, Cian seemed a happy child and Morrigan a contented mother.

She had also seen that Celene respected the witch as an advisor and that they shared a companionable relationship. She had sensed tension between Morrigan and Paul, but with both of them vying for the role of Chancellor, this was to be expected. The tension did not preclude friendship and the advisors seemed to share a somewhat amiable partnership.

Leliana had not expected to feel jealous of Morrigan, however. Envy was an irrational emotion and not one she liked to waste time on, preferring to be thankful for what she did have rather than dwell on what she did not. And there was very little lacking from her life, except for perhaps more time with her husband. But Cian was the evidence of a bond between Aedan and Morrigan she was not a part of, and much as she tried to ignore it, the notion tickled at the back of her mind. These thoughts did not become her and she tried to banish them, knowing sensibly that Aedan had little more feeling for Morrigan than she had, but they persisted, along with the notion that the witch might have further designs upon Aedan. She had suggested meeting again, after all, had offered to let him visit with Cian. Leliana knew he thought about his first born son, wondered about him.

Movement behind her disturbed her reverie and Leliana turned to see Aedan sitting up and rubbing his eyes. He glanced at her and she realised she had forgotten to restore her smile and banish the shadows from her eyes. They gazed at one another for a moment before he pushed himself from the bed and walked over to her. He frowned as he stood over her and then he crouched down and clasped her hands.

"You look sad, Leli. Will you tell me what's wrong?"

She looked down at their clasped hands and the day caught up with her then. The day that had begun with held hands, an awkward visit, and then the sparring match. Aedan hadn't been the only angry one in the practice yard this afternoon. Though she had bested him and kicked him to the dirt, it had been a temporary respite from the feeling that she might lose him, just when he had started to come back. Leliana tried to lift the corners of her mouth, but she couldn't. Instead tears gathered in the corners of her eyes and disentangling her hands she leaned forward and slipped her arms around him, burying her face in his neck. Aedan hugged her gently in return, quietly, and she felt him bend and kiss her hair and her head. Simple touches that undid her further.

With a quiet grunt, Aedan gathered her up and carried her to the couch where he sat with her in his lap. "Tell me what you need," he said quietly.

"I need _you_," she whispered in return.

"I'm right here, Leli."

Not all of you is here, she wanted to say, but wasn't sure he'd understand. She needed to pull herself together; they had dinner in about an hour and afterwards a ball. Leliana took a peek at the dress she'd laid over one of the arm chairs and sought solace in the warm red and gold tones of it. She imagined dancing with Aedan and the thought made her smile, a small smile, but one that began to restore her none the less. Wrapping her arms around him again she hugged him close. "I know," she answered. "Thank you."

When she looked at him, she saw confusion in his eyes.

"Leli, we don't have to go tonight, we can stay here and talk if you'd rather. Or just be together."

It was a tempting offer. "We will do that tomorrow night. Tonight I want to dance with you, Aedan."

He grinned at her. "You may be sorry…"

"Nonsense." She attempted to push herself from his lap but his arms held her fast.

"Leli, I am here for you, always. Remember that. I know today cannot have been easy for you, or yesterday." He pressed his lips to her forehead. "You are so strong. It's one of the many things I love about you."

"I am not always so strong." She did not feel so now.

"That's when we lean on each other, right?"

Right.

Leliana assumed a different mask as Aedan held his arm out to her an hour later, ready to escort her to dinner. This one she didn't have to try for or wrestle with, it came naturally to her, her own face with a happy expression and clear, bright eyes.

She linked her arm through his and they went to dinner. The formal dinner party preceding the ball was an intimate affair by Orlesian standards, only twenty guests in attendance. Paul Le Trene sat to Celene's left, Aedan sat to her right and Morrigan was absent. They were introduced to all present and Leliana catalogued the names, knowing she might have to prompt Aedan afterwards. The man seated to next to Paul tickled Leliana's memory and eventually she placed him. He had accompanied the Empress to the docks the day they had arrived. Leliana idly wondered what his job description was, where he fell in the political hierarchy. Paul introduced him as Lord Felix Mason. She guessed the woman seated next to him must be his wife and again her face looked familiar, but Leliana could not place her. She eventually decided that she must have seen her at court, either this visit or previously.

Another guest further down the table obviously recognised her and Leliana employed a mask of innocence, leaning into her husband and playing the role of wife and foreign dignitary. She knew she could not hide her red hair and distinctive features, she would simply have to rely on the fact that Lord Bonnet had never connected her to any missing documents and that if he did, he would be sensible enough not to draw attention to either his transgressions or oversight.

Aedan turned to her and Leliana brought her focus back toward her own end of the table as he spoke.

"Celene has offered us the use of horses, Leli, is that something you might enjoy?"

Leliana grinned and clasped his hand. "I would." She knew of a road that followed the cliffs along the ocean north of the city that would provide the perfect journey and destination. "There is an inn about half a day's ride north of here, along the coast." Leaning forward she put her next question to the Empress herself. "Would you mind if we took the road to Val Chevin?"

Celene's expression brightened. "Leliana, that is a marvelous idea, I wish I had thought to suggest it. You must do this. Please consider the horses your own for as long as you would care to be away." The empresses cast her eyes sideways at Aedan, discreetly, before meeting hers once more. "The country side around Val Chevin is beautiful this time of year and it's a very peaceful location."

Aedan squeezed her hand and grinned openly back and forth between the two women. Leliana could see he was excited by their plans and she shared his enthusiasm. They would be away from the city and they would be together.

After dinner the guests broke up into small groups and milled about a large sitting room making polite conversation until the ball was well and truly under way. Orlesian etiquette dictated they should not all arrive together and that as the top tier of society, those invited to dine with the Empress before the ball, they should not arrive early, or on time, but quite late, as if they had merely graced the function with their attendance as an afterthought. As distinguished guests of Celene, Aedan and Leliana would be amongst the last to enter the ballroom, accompanying the Empress and her escort, Paul.

Though she had studied them through dinner, Leliana could detect no romantic interest between the advisor and the empress, they seemed merely friends. She had learned that Paul's wife had died giving birth to Marie and she wondered if he had a mistress or had cast his ambitions higher.

"What are you thinking about, love?"

Leliana looked from the advisor to her husband shook her head as she chuckled. "I was playing the role of Chancellor, looking for connections between the various nobles and the Empress, tensions, relationships." Sometimes the role of chancellor differed very little from the role of a bard, she thought privately as she felt Lord Bonnet's gaze fall on her and noticed that the gentleman had chosen to situate himself on the far side of the room.

Aedan raised a brow and leaned in close, whispering, "And have you detected any deep, dark secrets?"

Leliana giggled at him and pushed his shoulder gently. "How about I save my stories for our ride north, you never know who is listening in the palace."

Aedan chuckled.

The sitting room soon emptied of all but themselves, Paul and Celene and the advisor indicated that it was time for them to make their entrance. Leliana and Aedan were first and she could feel Aedan shifting uncomfortably beside her as they were announced by their long and convoluted official titles and finally the descended the wide marble staircase and entered the foyer of the grand hall.

Leliana gasped in delight as they passed through the columns and beneath the ornate arch leading into the ballroom. The grand hall was easily twice the size of the one in Ferelden, featuring a far more refined and delicate architecture. Soaring pillars lined the hall at regular intervals along each wall and broad floor to ceiling windows looked out over the series of terraces and ponds that led into the park like garden where they had shared tea the afternoon before.

Every surface shone, from the marble floors and columns to the gilt edged drapes and elegant chandeliers. And the music, Leliana's eyes sought the musicians and she clapped her hands together and only just resisted the urge to run over and start examining their instruments. Turning, she saw Aedan was looking at her, his eyes full of laughter and love, just as they had been in the past and he slipped an arm about her shoulders and hugged her carefully, mindful of the sweeping skirt of her gown.

"I love to see you so happy, Leliana. If I could escort you to such an event every night I would."

"But then tonight would not be so special, Aedan."

Raising a brow, he nodded and bent to kiss her cheek. "You are right, of course. Did I tell you yet how beautiful you look tonight?"

She grinned. "Yes, but a lady always likes to hear it more than once."

"You look radiant this evening."

"In decent intervals…"

Aedan laughed and caught her hand. "What would you like to do first, dance or drink? You will have noticed I did not include socializing with the Orlesian nobility on my brief list. We have done our duty as far as I am concerned and you are mine alone for the rest of the evening."

Leliana regarded him with mock horror. "But what if Celene requests you dance with her?"

Aedan looked to her with real horror. "She wouldn't, would she?"

Leliana laughed loudly, she couldn't help it. The look on his face was too wonderful. "She might and you should accept, it would be polite."

She thought Aedan might actually have whimpered, but she realised it was a strangled sounding chuckle. He kissed her hand and tugged her towards the dance floor. "Let's dance first then, I know you want to, I can see your feet moving already."

Leliana looked down at her skirts and saw the tell tale swish that indicated her feet were indeed moving. She smiled at herself and followed Aedan to the side of the dance floor. They stood politely aside as they waited for the waltz to end, for partners to bow and curtsey, applaud the musicians and seek company for the next dance. Aedan took her hand and led her out to the floor with the newly shuffled couples and they faced each other as they waited for the music.

A thrill of excitement passed through her as the first notes of the next tune floated out across the dance floor. She and Aedan had danced together at parties, at weddings, and for fun. But they had only danced together formally like this once before, at a ball Brenna had organized some months after the royal wedding. While not on the scale of this event, it had still been a magical night. The Wardens had reclaimed Amaranthine and the mood had been festive and celebratory. Leliana wondered if she might mention planning another such affair to Brenna upon their return to Ferelden, perhaps for after the Landsmeet, something for the nobility to look forward to other than politics.

Aedan caught her gently in his arms, one at her waist, the other clasping her fingers and they traced the proscribed steps across the gleaming marble floor. As they moved in amongst the other couples, Leliana caught flashes of colour as other dresses swirled by. She then relaxed into the steps and her husband's arms and turned to catch his eyes. He was gazing at her, a small smile in place, and he tightened his grip on her slightly in a sort of hug as they danced.

"Has it been a proper interval? Can I tell you that you look beautiful again yet?"

Leliana chuckled and nodded. "You also look very handsome tonight, Aedan."

He merely winked in return, which made her chuckle again.

It had surprised her when she first learned that Aedan not only knew how to dance, but that he enjoyed it. His mother and father had liked to entertain and Fergus's young wife had taught both he and his brother some of the more formal Orlesian dances also. She didn't know if the music caught him, or the exercise, but either way, dancing had become yet another thing they enjoyed doing together.

The music faded away to be replaced by a more lively tune and Leliana was delighted as he caught the spirit of it and twirled her about in a practiced gestured, drawing her back into his arms before literally carrying her off across the floor once more. She could see Aedan was genuinely enjoying himself and this made her happy, as she took great pleasure in the evening also.

The musicians paused to let the dancers catch their breath before striking up the next tune. Leliana recognised the melody and she saw from Aedan's expression he knew it too. The music built from the first few notes into one of the older Orlesian tunes, one based upon an old folk song she had played for him and for the children and she was touched that he remembered. He also remembered the steps. The dance had a gentler pace than the previous one and Aedan drew her closer as they moved to the music.

Leliana sighed in soft satisfaction and fought the temptation to rest her head against his shoulder as the more restful melody turned them about slowly. Glancing about she noticed that they tended to dance more closely than the other couples and wondered at first if it was simply a difference of style. She then decided it meant they were closer as a couple than the other pairs and this made her smile. Aedan leaned forward to kiss her cheek and she flushed, wondering what the Orlesian nobility would think of such a display, but she lost that thought when she felt his breath tickle at her ear and realised he softly sang the words to her, the ones she had taught him nearly five years ago.

His accent was not perfect, she knew he understood Orlesian better than he could speak it, but the gesture, the fact that he remembered, the sweetness of it nearly brought tears to her eyes for the second time that day. Leliana reached for one of her masks then, wishing she didn't have to; wishing they were alone and she could wrap her arms tightly about this man and never let go.


	13. The Bard

The Bard

Aedan realised Felix had spoken to him and he returned his gaze to the man and apologised. "Forgive me, Felix."

The man smiled and the expression lifted the narrow features of his face into a fair approximation of amusement. "Ah, I am sure my wife would prefer me to look after her in such a fashion."

Aedan raised a brow. He could not say, 'don't you find your wife attractive?' He turned to look for Lady Mason and saw her talking with Lord… something. He couldn't keep all the names straight, but he remembered the man had shown a keen interest in Leliana throughout dinner and afterwards, though beyond a polite greeting, he had not approached for further conversation.

Felix answered his silent question anyway, "We were betrothed at the age of five. I have only to close my eyes and I can picture her face perfectly, so long have we known one another. Are arranged marriages popular amongst the nobility in Ferelden?"

Drawing his brows down in thought, Aedan considered the question. "They have been and still are, I suppose." He remembered his own arrangement with Delilah Howe and briefly pondered how different his life might have been had Ferelden not been divided by civil war and the Blight. Quirking his mouth into a half smile he continued. "You could say I managed to duck mine."

"But you are a Teyrn, one of only two in all of Ferelden. How did you manage this feat?"

Knowing the Orlesian would appreciate the scandal of it, Aedan gave in to temptation. He lowered his voice and inclined his head just a fraction closer. "Her family was on the losing side of our civil war."

Felix gulped, nodded and raised his drink to his lips to hide his somewhat shocked expression. Aedan laughed on the inside – he could not wait to share this particular moment with Leliana. With his wife on his mind once more he scanned the ballroom for any sign of her. She had excused herself only a short while ago, leaving him in the company of Felix as she went to find the conveniences.

A hint of movement had him turning his head as Celene and Paul approached. He bowed his head politely in greeting to the advisor and took the Empress's extended hand.

"Aedan, you have not asked me to dance." Celene arched a brow at him and Aedan allowed a slight smile. Leliana had tried to warn him.

Offering her a more formal bow he asked her to dance. "Would you do me the honor, Celene?"

The Empress might have grinned in response, her smile spread so wide and Aedan chuckled at her as he excused himself from the company of Paul and Felix and led her to the dance floor. All eyes turned towards them and he tried not to shift beneath the weight of all their gazes. Instead, he imagined the amusement he would see on Leliana's face when she returned to find him dancing with the Empress.

Celene was an exceptional dancer, though not quite as fluid or graceful as Leliana, but she did not feel quite the same. He felt uncomfortable resting his hand on another woman's waist, the Empress's waist to be precise. He'd not had a problem dancing with Brenna; in fact he'd enjoyed spinning Alistair's petite wife about the dance floor and listening to her giggle. Celene seemed to move into his hand, however, and her very presence made him nervous. He couldn't help glancing out to see if Leliana had returned to the hall and Celene commented.

"Not many men look at their wives as you do yours, Aedan."

Aedan tried for an easy smile. "No many men are blessed with a wife such as mine."

Celene arched her brows, but when she nodded, Aedan thought he caught a hint of approval in her eyes. They conversed lightly for the rest of the dance, Celene pointing out landmarks they must visit along the way to Val Chevin and he paid compliments to her city, mentioning what he and Leliana had seen on their day out together. The music ended and Celene seemed more than happy to relinquish her hold upon him.

Aedan moved to the bar to help himself to a drink and resume his search for his wife. Anxiety quietly gnawed at his gut. He knew women tended to take their time refreshing themselves, and of course Leliana liked to talk. He could almost imagine her sitting side by side with Lady Someone-or-Other, chatting away about dresses, horses, poetry or whatever else it was that women liked to talk about when the men folk were not around. He did not seek out more company himself and kept his gaze upon his drink when he wasn't looking for her so as to avoid inviting anyone to come over to his side.

As the minutes stretched out Aedan began to fidget and then properly worry. Though he knew Leliana could get carried away in conversation he didn't think it likely she would indulge this much here at a ball when she knew he'd been left at the mercy of the Orlesian nobility. He was on the point of moving to search for her when a tall man with greying hair approached him. He recognised the man as being the one that had been conversing with Lady Mason, the one that had been eyeing Leliana from the other end of the dining table and across the sitting room. He could not remember the man's name.

The man performed a half bow and extended his hand. "Teyrn Cousland?"

Aedan smiled politely and clasped the outstretched hand loosely. "Please, call me Aedan."

The older gentleman smiled and inclined his head. "Ah, you may call me Coyne."

Aedan then remembered him as Lord Bonnet and politely enquired if the man was enjoying the evening.

Coyne replied, "We are fortunate to have the Hero of Ferelden as our guest, and your lovely wife."

Aedan sensed then that Coyne had come over specifically to talk about Leliana and he raised his brow. "Thank you. This is my first visit to Val Royeaux and I am enjoying the city and the Empress's hospitality. My wife, Leliana, has been here many times before, however."

"Yes, she is a familiar face, though absent for many years. She has been in Ferelden, then?"

Aedan nodded, adding only a careful, "Yes."

Coyne Bonnet looked as if he wanted to say something else, but Aedan caught a flash of red in his peripheral vision and turned to see the skirt of Leliana's dress disappear between two columns, back in the direction of the foyer. Putting his drink aside, Aedan excused himself as politely as possible, which by Orlesian standards may have been quite rude, and strode along the side of the grand hall towards the foyer.

He saw Felix Mason walking towards him but deliberately quickened his stride; he did not want to be distracted further. Felix called out after him, but not so loudly Aedan couldn't pretend not to hear, and he took the marble stairs back to the entry way two at a time. At the top he had a choice of two different directions: back towards the sitting room they had occupied after dinner or a hallway that led to the rest of the palace. Perhaps Leliana had left something in the sitting room after dinner, or simply sought a moment of quiet. This latter thought had him reflecting on her sadness earlier in the afternoon.

Leliana had not told him why she had been sad, but he thought he knew and he hesitated a moment in the hallway, wondering if perhaps she wanted to be alone with her thoughts for a while. Reaching up, he rubbed at the scar on his forehead as he tried to decide if he should go after her or simply wait for her to return to the ball. A scuff behind him caught his attention and turning he saw Felix Mason standing on the top step.

"Is everything alright, Aedan?"

"Yes, Felix, I just wanted a breath of air."

"Your wife is looking for you." Felix gestured the hallway. "She said she would be in the sitting room."

Raising his brows Aedan glanced from the hallway to Felix and back again. "Ah… thank you, Felix. I will go to her." He dipped his head at the Orlesian and stepped into the hallway.

An unsettled feeling rose in his gut, he didn't understand why Felix knew where his wife waited. Perhaps she was unwell and had not been able to cross the grand hall looking for him. This thought spurred him forward and he nearly jogged towards the sitting room. Passing through the doorway he noted the room held a variety of people, some from dinner and others probably guests from the ball. Many glanced up as he stepped through the door way, a couple acknowledged him with a nod. Aedan scanned the room but saw no sign of Leliana.

With a sigh he turned and scanned the hallway. Perhaps there was another sitting room? The unsettled feeling had turned to worry again. Aedan sensed something amiss but could not decide what agitated him more, Leliana's continued absence or that she had given Felix her message. He strode down the hallway and paused at the next door. Craning his head around the frame he saw another sitting room and this one stood empty.

Footsteps drew him back to the hallway and he caught a glimpse of a red dress passing through the next doorway.

"Leli!"

No answer.

Gritting his teeth over his rising frustration and anxiety Aedan backed into the hallway and ran to the next room. As he pushed through the door he called out again, "Leli?"

The room appeared empty and Aedan growled as he strode to the centre of the small study and glanced around. Tall windows lined the far wall and one stood ajar, the curtain fluttering lightly in the night air. Aedan stepped over to it and saw that the window was actually a door to a small balcony. He sighed in relief, she would be out there. She must have needed a some air after all.

Stepping through he saw a woman leaning over the balcony railing and despite the fact she wore Leliana's dress, he immediately knew it was not his wife. She stood and turned and he blinked in confusion. Lady Mason stood before him, in his wife's dress. Though their hair had a similar shade, the cut and texture were different and of course, this woman did not have Leliana's beautiful face. Her features were more plain, her eyes grey.

Aedan cleared his throat and glanced pointedly at her dress. "What is going on? Where is my wife?"

Instead of answering, Felix's wife suddenly jabbed her right hand forward and the light caught a flash of steel. Sweeping his left arm down and out in a block, he deflected the blade and he turned to grab her wrist as her second blade glanced off his ribs on the right hand side. Because he had turned, the blade caught his shirt, nicking through material and skin, slicing rather than stabbing as she'd probably intended. Aedan ignored the sting and reversed his turn, bringing his elbow back across her chin.

The woman stumbled backwards from the blow and he reached out to catch her left hand with his right and her right with his left, trying to disable the daggers. He caught her wrists and held them up and away from her body.

"Where is Leliana?"

She laughed at him, a harsh, cruel sound, and answered in a thickly accented voice, "She sleeps."

Aedan growled and twisted her right wrist, attempting to loosen her hold on the dagger and she shuffled before him, the skirt of Leliana's dress billowing forward as her knee came up and connected with his groin, hard. Aedan tried to keep a hold of her wrists as he canted forward, his first impulse being to double over. Through the haze of pain he felt his fingers loosening and fear swept through him as one of his hands feel free, but he couldn't concentrate, his entire focus had been drawn to one point of his body. He couldn't think, he could only grunt and gasp and he drove forward on instinct alone, knocking her back and away from him.

He still had a hold of her left wrist, but he couldn't make his fingers work, he couldn't twist. He tried to straighten, but failed, and so he let go and let himself to fall and roll backwards and away from the downward sweep of the dagger in her right hand, raising his arm in an attempt to ward off the strike. The blade pierced his arm, but he barely felt it, his entire being still being centered on his groin. Aedan reached for his templar techniques then, for his focus, and he tried to push aside the pain and concentrate on doing more than defending himself.

The woman bent forward to strike again as he was effectively sitting on the stone floor of the balcony now. Aedan felt trapped, his back rested against the window behind him, she bore down upon him from the front, the stone railing blocked him to one side and he didn't have time to roll to the other side. Knowing the blades would hit his arms again, knowing it would hurt, he did the only thing he could and drew his arms in front of his face, in a forearm block. As soon as he felt the bite of steel he gritted his teeth and pushed forward, roaring as the blade drove through the flesh of his arm, but pushing against it none the less, driving it away from his face, his chest, anything more vulnerable than his arm.

Drawing in a deep breath, he swung out his free arm and caught her other wrist and drove it against the stone railing to his side as hard as he could. He heard her gasp as her wrist connected with the hard surface and turning his hand he caught her about the wrist and pushed again, and again until he felt her hand open and heard the blade drop free and clank to the floor.

She let go of the other blade at the same time, leaving it in his forearm and making a fist, hit him in the side of the head. Though her knuckles rapped against his temple, Aedan gritted his teeth against the new flare of pain that barely competed with the nicks and cuts, the dagger in his arm, and the reason he sat slumped on the ground. He waved his left arm out, attempting to grab her free arm before she struck him again, caught a hold of her forearm and wrapped his fingers about the slender limb.

"Stop," he gasped. "Why are you doing this?"

She twisted and bucked before him, trying to pull her arms free. Without answering she kicked forward at him again, her booted foot catching him in the chest, driving the air from his lungs. Aedan let go of her wrists and wheezed for breath. He leaned forward and spying one of the daggers, picked it up, his fingers fumbling with the hilt. He saw her swoop down to grasp the other and bracing himself he rolled forward, ducking his head and catching her in the midsection, throwing her back against the railing across the front of the balcony. He got to his hands and knees and putting all of his will into the effort, gained his feet. He couldn't stand straight and he could barely breathe, but it had become obvious this woman meant to either kill or seriously disable him and so he charged at her, thrusting the dagger forward.

Her foot shot out and kicked at his hand, neatly flicking the blade away and terror bubbled inside him for the first time. He'd seen a move like that only once before. Leliana had shown it to him. This woman had the same skills, the same agility and the same grim determination. Did Felix know his wife was an assassin, a bard? His forward momentum drove him forward and he used his superior height and strength now, despite his wounds, this was all he had left to draw on. He grasped her about the shoulders and threw her backwards again, almost feeling the blow himself as she whacked against the railing. She didn't fall, however, she merely seemed to bounce and she came for him again. Aedan ducked his head and barreled forward, wrapping is arms about her waist as he caught her and he lifted her up and over the edge of the stone balustrade, pinned her to the top of the wall and glared down at her.

"Where is my wife?" he yelled.

"You, of all people, should know I will not tell you," she drawled, her voice low, her tone somewhat coy despite the effort it cost her to speak.

With a snarl Aedan let the pain and the fear inside of him flare and take hold and he pushed her forward and over the edge of the rail. Her entire weight pulled against his hands and he looked at her for one moment before he let go and watched her fall to the ground below. She didn't scream, she didn't make a single sound as she plummeted to the stone courtyard. The bard may have even survived the fall had it not been for the stone bench positioned just below the balcony, the back of it effectively stopping her fall, her torso hitting it with a loud snap and falling limply to either side, her back broken.

The dim light of a single lantern lit the small courtyard and in the soft glow Aedan experienced a moment of sickening confusion as he gazed down at the dead woman. Her lolled over the back of the bench and he could only see a woman's body and a dress, a red dress, his wife's dress. It almost looked as if Leliana lay broken in the courtyard below him and he gasped and cried out at the image as he stumbled backwards and away from the railing.

As questions swirled through his head, competing for attention with the hurts all over his body, Aedan glanced down and saw the hilt of the dagger protruding from his forearm. He stared at it senselessly for a moment, disconnected from the pain and the realization that the arm was his before he reached down to grasp the hilt. And then the world exploded around him, lights danced in front of his eyes, and he had a moment to wonder what that cracking sound had been before he felt himself slumping toward the stone floor and the darkness closed in.


	14. A Tainted Plague

A Tainted Plague

The Bend of Vaughn's bow undid him and the man stumbled forward. Alistair instinctively reached out to steady him while Zevran drew back. Alistair did not know if the elf's hesitation was due to dislike of Vaughn or fear of the taint, but either way, he could not place blame. It was a sensible precaution; they did not know how or if this plague spread as yet. Perhaps a simple touch of this newly tainted skin would be enough? Either way, he was a Warden and immune. He took Vaughn by the elbow and helped him to the chair set before the desk.

"Do you need anything? Food, or perhaps a drink?" he asked the Arl in a solicitous manner.

Glancing at Zevran, Alistair raised a brow and his friend correctly interpreted the gesture and bowed his head slightly, saying, "I will go gather some refreshments."

Alistair watched Zevran melt from the room, marveling as always at the elf's ability to meet shadow and disappear, before he turned back to Vaughn.

The tainted man raised a hand and waved it vaguely in the air. "I could drink, I think, but the hunger… it has faded." He looked up and met Alistair's eyes. "It was awful at first, I banged on the door and I pleaded with Ceorlic to feed me, but he was afraid."

"How long have you been in here?"

Vaughn shrugged. "A week? I do not know."

Alistair nodded. A week would make sense, it would be enough time for him to become this – ghoulish. It would also explain how a plague had gone unnoticed in the city for this long. For all his faults, Vaughn had proven himself to be a capable administrator. His thoughts moved on to how it must have felt to be trapped in this room for a week without food while the taint had spread throughout his body. How on earth had Vaughn managed to retain his mind? He should have been half mad or half dead, or both.

The chill that had taken hold of him earlier now settled into the pit of his stomach. He knew how and why, but he didn't like to admit it: This man had been tainted deliberately which meant one of two things. Either the taint itself had changed to the point where it no longer meant a certain and awful death or another 'architect' had surfaced and operated close to Denerim.

Alistair drew in a sharp breath, the impact of both thoughts hitting him squarely in the chest. He honestly could not decide which was worse. Glancing behind himself, he caught the arm of a chair with his hand and sank gratefully into it, wondering if his knees really shook or if it just felt that way.

Leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees, Alistair forced himself to look at Vaughn as he started asking questions. "Do you know how you became ta-, ah, sick?" He couldn't bring himself to tell the Arl he had become tainted, the implications were still too awful.

Vaughn shrugged. "I do not know, but I will tell you this much, despite the hunger, the thirst, this weakness, I do not feel sick. I feel… different, changed."

If he shivered much more, he would appear ill himself. Alistair tried to control his body's reaction, drawing again on his focus, stilling his mind.

"We had started receiving rumours of a sickness in this quarter of the city, had you seen any sign of it before you…" Succumbed?

Zevran slipped from the sitting room into the bedroom again. He held a tray with a pitcher of water and three mugs. Setting it down, he poured out the water and handed a mug to Alistair, but did not take one himself, nor did he offer one to Vaughn. The Arl simply glanced at the tray and its contents but made no move to take a drink.

Alistair stared into the mug; a scum covered the top of the water, likely from the dust on the mug.

"The kitchen…?"

"Deserted. I do not think this estate has been properly maintained for several days."

Alistair sighed heavily and took a long draught from his mug. He didn't care about the dusty film or the dank taste of the water, he needed the refreshment. He also needed to talk with Ceorlic. Nothing about this situation made any sense. And behind all of this a sense of urgency brewed. The longer he sat here trying to figure things out, more people might become tainted and from what they knew thus far, not everyone survived as Vaughn had.

Turning to Zevran once more, Alistair opened his mouth, but once again the elf read his thoughts.

"Ceorlic? He is cowering in the armory. It is time for his audience with the King, yes?"

Alistair felt his lips crook up in a half smile and he nodded as Zevran once more disappeared into the shadowed sitting room.

Massaging his temples, Alistair turned back to find Vaughn staring vacantly into space. He studied the tainted man as his thoughts warred with one another. Maybe he wouldn't have to kill him, he seemed docile and cooperative. He might have valuable information on where this taint 'plague' had come from and how it was being spread. Had the test subjects and minions Aedan came across been this lucid, this calm? Alistair found himself suddenly second guessing the Warden Commander and his desire to kill every tainted being he came across. He then quickly banished that line of thought. He did not have all the facts.

"Vaughn?"

The man took a moment to rouse himself before lifting his silvered eyes to meet his gaze and Alistair repeated his query about sickness in the city.

"Yes. About ten days ago a petitioner arrived at my estate with claims that a sickness had started to spread amongst her family and her neighbours. I sent the guard to investigate and they came back with tales of a pox, a rash that had taken one family nearly entire. One survived, the grandfather." Vaughn made a coughing sound and Alistair finally recognised it as a dry cackle, an attempt at a chuckle. "Usually it is the elderly and the infirm who succumb first. This plague is different, it seems. They killed this man, the guards, out of fear I suppose."

Vaughn drew in a sharp breath then and looked up, his gaze unsettling.

Alistair leaned forward. "What is it?"

"They had just recently returned from the Brecilian Forest."

Alistair's brow furrowed as he pictured the forest on a map, the map he had studied with Philippe, the one he had marked with the elven ruins. The pounding behind his eyes returned and he reached for his mug once more, draining the last of the water before setting it down.

"Do you have any idea how you contracted this plague?"

Vaughn shrugged and then glancing down, he drew a thong from about his throat, the pendant following it to bounce lightly off his grimy linen shirt. Alistair studied the dark stone. The dim light did not allow for more than a casual inspection and he could only make out a solid, twisted design, about an inch in length and perhaps half as wide. Looking up he saw Vaughn regarding the stone with a grimace of distaste. The Arl gave the thong a sharp tug and pulled it from his neck before flinging the amulet across the desk.

"I do not, your majesty, but if someone should entice you with one of these 'warded amulets', know this: it does not work."

A scuffling and whimpering drew Alistair's attention to the sitting room door once more and Ceorlic appeared, one of his arms twisted behind his back, Zevran's hand on his opposite shoulder.

"Ah, Ceorlic, so glad you could join us," he drawled, in no mood to be pleasant to the old man whom he now saw as a coward as well as a potential rabble rouser and traitor.

Ceorlic took one look at Vaughn and shrieked, cowering back against his captor. Zevran chuckled and propelled him forward, encouraging him to have a seat right next to his host. The old man refused to bend into the chair until Zevran whispered something in his ear, then he complied. Alistair reminded himself once again why he was glad he counted Zevran as a friend and not a foe.

Vaughn turned to look at Ceorlic and the Bann cowered and coughed. Had the situation not been so dire, Alistair might have laughed at his reaction. Vaughn narrowed his silvery eyes and said in a dull tone, "Why is he still here? He is no longer welcome as a guest in my house."

Alistair turned to Ceorlic. "Why did you not summon the healers, or send word to the palace?"

"He did not look like this!" Ceorlic squeaked. The old man then drew himself up and straightened his shoulders. "That is what you do with sickness, you confine someone. I did what was best."

For yourself, Alistair mused. He idly wondered if Ceorlic had hoped Vaughn might die and leave him in charge of the estate, then shrugged. The Bann's political wrangling hardly mattered now. "When did the staff fall ill, why is the estate deserted?"

Ceorlic slumped and shook his head. "Only two fell ill that I saw. The rest fled. The only guards left are those four you saw outside and they refuse to come into the house."

Zevran turned his head sharply towards the door and Alistair glanced up at the elf, an eyebrow raised in question.

"Soldiers… Oghren, I think."

Alistair nodded and Zevran patted Ceorlic's shoulder before receding into the sitting room once more. Alistair heard him greet someone and Oghren's gravelly response and he stood, glanced at Ceorlic and Vaughn, then strode from the room himself. His dwarven commander looked disturbed and agitated.

"What did you find, Oghren?"

"Your majesty, you'll want to see this for yourself." Oghren didn't stand on ceremony, but spun on his heel and moved back down the corridor to the main hall.

A small crowd filled the hall, all of them tainted people. But there the similarity between them all ended. Some stood or sat quietly, their expressions as blank and calm as Vaughn's had been, while others writhed and moaned, thrashing against the soldiers who held them. The soldiers looked terrified and kept losing their grip, their fear of catching the plague or taint outweighing their duty. Annoyance briefly surged through Alistair, but he clamped it down. He was a Warden and still he felt the same fear. He made a snap decision.

Turning to Oghren, he indicated the calmer folk. "Anyone who exhibits this quietude can be left in here for the time being. The others," he nodded toward a man who had started tearing at his hair and shook his head, dropped his gaze and closed his eyes. "Take them to the dungeons, lock them up." His voice had petered out to a whisper.

Oghren leaned in. "Shouldn't we be…"

Alistair couldn't meet Oghren's eyes, but he nodded. "I will come down and…"

Oghren's hand gripped his arm, the weight of it heavy over the plate of his armour. "Alistair," he started quietly, his voice pitched low and for his ears only, "I'll take the elf down there with me, we'll 'take care' of them."

A glance at Zevran showed the rogue had heard and understood Oghren's comment and he instantly stepped forward and nodded his head.

Alistair swallowed drily. "Take care that you do not ingest any of their blood."

Oghren gave him a look he could not interpret before merely shaking his head and beckoning the soldiers holding the four moaning and writhing people.

Alistair called over one of the idle soldiers. "Would you settle these people in the barracks, they'll be staying here a while." The soldier paled and bowed and Alistair felt compelled to add, "They are docile enough, just keep them calm and no harm will come to you."

After the front hall had been cleared, Alistair went down to the dungeon, he didn't want to for a number of reasons, memories and what he would witness. But he was a Warden, he felt he had to do his duty or at least witness that the job had been done. By all indication, the four tainted people down there would turn into ghouls very soon and that could not be allowed to happen. Likely that was how this tainted plague had been spread thus far. But where had it become and why hadn't they all died or gone mad? The same questions, over and over.

Alistair met the soldiers returning from the dungeon and directed them back to the main hall for the moment before descending the twisted staircase himself. Oghren and Zevran had already finished the job when he got there. He bent down to help them drag one of the bodies to the room where such awful things were taken and Zevran tried to stop him.

He looked up at Zevran and said, "I have to do something and I can't be tainted, let me do this."

As he resumed his task his eyes fell on a thong about the man's neck. Dropping the body he bent forward and plucked it gingerly away from the bloodied shirt. An uneasy feeling swirled in his gut as he recognized the same amulet Vaughn had been wearing.

A shadow fell over the body and Zevran leaned forward and peered at the amulet before turning an eye on Alistair. "Resuming old habits, are we?"

Alistair blinked at his friend a moment, then dropped the pendant and wiped his hand uselessly against his armoured leg. "Vaughn wore one of these. Apparently an enterprising trader is selling them as some sort of warding charm. It does not appear to work, eh?"

Zevran raised a brow. "Not the best form of advertising, no."

He didn't know if his idea made any sense, but he had to start somewhere and this was the only common thread he'd found thus far. "Check the other bodies, will you?"

Zevran nodded and complied. In a few moments he was back, his face grave. He held up three leather thongs, each with a similar charm swinging from the bottom.

Alistair met the elf's eyes. "Do you think there is a connection?" He reached out to grasp the amulets. "Here, you better let me hold them, just in case. I'll have one of the mages take a look at them."

Stuffing the amulets into a small sack he found lying on a bench, Alistair gripped his odd prize and glanced at the bodies once more before indicating the furnace on the far side of the room. He turned to leave, not wanting to be around when the smell of burnt and tainted flesh filled the room.

Ceorlic, surprisingly enough, still sat where he had left him. Vaughn had slumped back in his chair and appeared to be sleeping though his eyes were not closed, merely heavily lidded. He did not move as Alistair stepped into the room. Ceorlic met his gaze and Alistair considered the Bann for several minutes, silently, watching the man fidget and quail beneath the weight of his eyes. Then he jerked his head sharply for the door.

"You can go, Ceorlic. Go back to Lowlands."

The Bann looked as if he might expire from relief and he fell forward in his chair before steadying himself and standing upright. He bowed, deeply, respectfully. "Thank you, your majesty. Your kindness will not be forgotten."

Alistair nodded and watched the old man walk unsteadily from the room. Just as Ceorlic prepared to cross the threshold, he called out to him. "Ceorlic, if someone tries to sell you a warding amulet, don't waste your money. It is a sham."

Ceorlic blinked at him and then drew his brows down a moment. "A vendor stopped by here last week selling just such a thing. Ugly little pendants, superstitious nonsense."

Alistair stepped forward. "Can you describe him, did he look familiar?"

Ceorlic managed an almost disdainful expression. "You're asking if I recognised a peddler? Of course not, he looked like any other of these traveling types, hooded cloak, mysterious voice." He paused. "I did think it odd he wore gloves in this weather, fine linen gloves too."

Alistair nodded and waved a hand to dismiss the Bann once more. Excitement and dread mixed with all the other emotions he had swirling within and his stomach clenched, then gurgled. Alistair frowned before he realised the latter sensation was hunger. He had lost track of time. He glanced at the windows along the far wall of Vaughn's bedroom and noted the day had given way to dusk. He had missed dinner and Brenna would be worried, but he couldn't rush back to the palace now.

He passed the entrance to the dungeon on his return to the front hall and the faint stench of burning filth assailed his nostrils and turned his stomach. All thoughts of food fled his mind. When he arrived in the main hall a second contingent of guards had arrived with another group of tainted people – an additional two of the calmer variety and three more agitated souls. Alistair's shoulders dropped and he nodded towards Oghren and Zevran.

As they tried to escort one of the victims to the dungeon entrance the petite woman started shrieking and worked herself into a frenzy. She lashed out with her hands and feet, catching all of them, most of her blows glancing harmlessly off amour. After she had been subdued, one of the soldiers cried out and lifted his hand away from his cheek, his fingers tinged with blood. He had a long scratch.

Zevran sprang into action, removing a health poultice from his belt and using it to clean the wound. None of them had any idea if this soldier would sicken from a single scratch, but their combined fear and wonder lay heavily in the air.

Oghren broke the moment finally, his gruff voice echoing off the stone walls of the staircase. "C'mon, let's worry about tomorrow, tomorrow." And with that they resumed taking the three tainted, sickened, ghoulish victims to the dungeon.


	15. We are Wardens

We are Wardens

Luke spent an hour convincing Brenna he needed to return to the Fort.

She held up the note from Alistair and waved it about in frustration and he could see fear and worry in her eyes. Her world, everyone's world, had been turned upside down in the course of a single afternoon. "Luke, I don't know what else to tell you, Alistair asked me to ensure you stayed at the palace."

Luke balled his fists and took a deep breath. "Brenna, he didn't know about the darkspawn then, I'm the only other Warden in Denerim, I have to go back to the Fort."

He could see the queen was torn and he hated putting her in the middle, but regardless of what Alistair or Brenna or even Aedan wanted for him, he was a Warden, he had responsibilities and they did not include hiding in the palace with the other children.

"Will you at least eat before you go?"

Luke softened his manner and smiled at Brenna. She sounded like Leliana. "I will."

Throughout the casual meal Brenna asked him questions about the storm and what he'd found in the Fort. He gave only vague answers, aware that Rory and Grace listened to every word he said. Perhaps they thought he told a story rather than reported on what actually seemed to be happening in the city? A glance at Rory's face told him otherwise and he ceased talking about the Fort and instead directed the conversation towards what Aedan and Leliana might be doing in Orlais.

Brenna answered with a wistful smile. "Tonight they will be at the ball."

After the meal he returned to the Fort as requested, but was allowed to do nothing but stand guard by the series of barricades and traps the soldiers had set around the tunnel entrance. His sense of the taint had faded and he felt no imminent danger, but that hardly quelled his desire to enter the old corridor and rout out the darkspawn he knew lurked below the tower. Finally he succumbed to fatigue and took a nap in the barracks.

A gentle hand shook him awake just before dawn. "Luke."

Zevran stood over the narrow bed and Luke took note of the shadows beneath and within the elf's normally warm eyes. He sat up and attempted to throw off the last vestiges of sleep with a quick shake of his head that left him more dizzy than alert.

"Zev! What's up?" As the previous day came rushing back, he gripped the rogue's arm. "Is it the tunnels?" Luke simultaneously stood up as he reached for the taint. Still there, still vague. It wasn't the tunnels. "Is it Alistair?"

That Zevran didn't chuckle or smile or jest told Luke more than words might have. "Alistair is here, we're about to head to the Landsmeet Chamber, will you come? Alistair wants to meet with the nobles before we head beneath the fort."

Alistair had apparently slept for two hours upon his return to the Fort and the King surprised Luke by pulling him into a brief hug as soon as he saw him. "I am glad to see you well, Luke."

"You too, Alistair."

"Do you have any message from Brenna?"

"I do." Luke handed across the folded note. He waited until Alistair had read it before asking, "You will see her before we go beneath the Fort?" Why had he asked that? Alistair was not Aedan, he would not be disappearing beneath the city for months, would he?

Alistair looked at him for a moment and Luke wondered if his comment had been too impertinent, or if the King might question his use of the word 'we', implying that he would be accompanying them under the Fort. "Of course I will."

Arl Teagan already paced in front of the throne when the four of them entered the Landsmeet Chamber. He gave Luke a hug, gripped Zevran's arm, clapped Oghren on the shoulder and grasped both of Alistair's arms in a somber greeting. "Alistair, I have summoned any nobility already in the city and have sent messages to the others. Tell me everything."

The sound of footsteps had them all turning to see four nobles standing in the doorway. They bowed to their King before stepping forward.

Before he had become a Grey Warden Luke had lived almost exclusively in Denerim for two years and so he knew the names of all these men and single woman. He also knew how they had voted and how they were likely to vote on any given matter. Despite his affected disinterest in politics, it was hard not to take notice when your adoptive mother held the role of chancellor to the King.

Approaching Alistair now were Arl Wulff, Bann Alfstana, Bann Maddox and Bann Sighard. The King greeted them by announcing, "You're just in time." Alistair nodded to Oghren. "Can you give us a report on the South East Quarter please, Commander?"

Luke paid careful attention as Oghren began to describe the situation south of Arl Vaughn's estate. The soldiers and city guard had scoured that section of the city until the early hours of the morning and had turned up fifty three confirmed instances of the tainted plague. Cold fear crept down Luke's spine and balled within his stomach. He took a deep breath and steadied himself.

As the dwarven commander went on to describe how he, Zevran and Alistair had dispatched the worst victims, "put the poor blighters out of their misery," Alistair dropped heavily into his throne and studied his hands.

Bann Sighard stepped forward, his eyes wide with alarm. "You killed them? Why? What sort of plague is this? How many of Denerim's citizens did you 'put out of their misery'?"

Luke winced as Alistair raised his gaze from his hands. He'd seen Aedan look at his hands like that before and he knew the King had been thinking about the people he'd had to kill, that he'd been sitting there imagining their blood stained his palms. But unlike the fury and rage that normally burned in Aedan's eyes, only sadness and fatigue dwelled in Alistair's gaze.

"This is no normal sickness, Sighard, those men and women were tainted, they would have become ghouls and possibly spread the taint to any and all they came into contact with. Have you ever seen a tainted man?" Alistair glanced from one to the other of the nobles arrayed before him. "It is a fate worse than death. We did those people a kindness, much as I despised having to kill my own citizens."

Bann Alfstana nodded towards Oghren. "You say you only dispatched the worst, what has stopped you from offering this 'kindness' to all the victims?"

Luke glanced from the Bann back to the King. He thought he knew the answer to this question and the cold ball of fear in his gut churned as he waited for Alistair's response.

"Because they are… different. Tainted, yes, but," Alistair glanced up at him then and Luke leaned forward, waiting for the question in his fellow Warden's eyes. "I think they may be like the 'test-subjects' the Warden Commander describes in his reports."

Crap! was the first word that came to mind, followed quickly by Maker, Andraste's ass and all the other curses Leliana might have glared at him for uttering. Luke said them all silently now, and listened to them echo inside his head.

Sighard broke in again with, "But how many had to be killed?"

Luke was interested in the answer to this question also. He suspected the number would be more than a few, though he knew it would have been hard for Alistair to kill even one of his own people.

"Forty two," Oghren supplied as Alistair scrubbed at jaw, his eyes and his head, leaving his hair standing up even further than usual at the front.

"So the survival rate is not good then." Teagan's soft voice drew everyone's attention. The Arl nodded at Oghren. "Would you continue with your report please, Commander?"

Survival rate? They were considering those who had not turned into ghouls survivors? Luke gaped and Alistair caught his eye and gently shook his head. Luke interpreted the gesture as 'we'll talk about it later.'

"The calm ones are being cared for at Vaughn's estate. That's where we'll continue to bring any more victims. Today soldiers will start searching the rest of the city."

Bann Maddox spoke up for the first time. "And Vaughn, why is he not here?"

Alistair shook his head sadly. "Vaughn is tainted, Maddox. He is one of the calm ones."

Oghren barreled on. "I have another group of soldiers combing the city for this trinket peddler and the rest of them are on the lookout for any dark skinned men or women wearing hooded cloaks and gloves."

Trinket peddler? Luke blinked. Had he fallen asleep standing up and missed a part of Oghren's report?

"Trinket peddler?" Teagan asked.

"If someone tries to sell ya a twisted lump of black stone, don't buy it, Teagan." Oghren shook his head before continuing. "They were all wearin' one, all the victims we found so far."

Sighard gasped and pulled an amulet from around his neck. Zevran seemed to take one fluid step and appeared suddenly at the Bann's side before reaching out and plucking the thong from Sighard's hands and tearing it from his neck with a snap. The elf held the amulet out before him and walked over to Alistair. Holding out a hand, Alistair took it and closed his fingers about it. He visibly paled. "How long have you been wearing this and where did you get it?"

Luke stepped forward and Alistair opened his hand so that he could study the pendant. The etched and twisted stone reminded him of the taint and he felt a stirring of his senses as he looked at it. "You think these amulets are tainting people?"

Alistair nodded softly. "Has Aedan ever mentioned anything like these?"

Luke shook his head. "No."

Sighard had been opening and closing his mouth and Alfstana took his elbow and helped him to a chair. Luke moved over to him, ostensibly to offer aid, but in actual fact he could not help studying any exposed skin for the telltale signs of the taint. After a few moments the Bann composed himself and answered the question. "I purchased it just now, on my way to the Landsmeet Chamber."

Oghren and Zevran ran for the door and Luke pelted after them. Of course, they saw no one but guards outside in the early morning light, the streets were deserted and subsequent questioning of the guards proved fruitless. Oghren organized a group of them none the less to start searching the streets around the palace.

Luke stepped back into the chamber and glanced at the man sitting on the throne at the other end. Pity welled up inside him as he studied the King, his uncle, his friend. He walked back to Alistair's side and placed a hand on his shoulder. Alistair looked up, gave a crooked smile and covered his hand with his own. He gestured the nobles and said, "Luke, would you give us a report on the findings at Fort Drakon please?"

Oghren and Zevran came back in and took up a position to each side of the throne. Luke took his hand from Alistair's shoulder and with a small bow towards his king, turned to face the nobles. He experienced a nervous flutter in his gut as they regarded him, he felt important and foolish at the same time.

Before he could open his mouth, however, Maddox asked in a snide tone, "What, we are taking reports from the Commander's whelp now?"

Luke blinked in astonishment and Alistair arched a single brow at the Bann before leveling his gaze at the man. "Luke is a Grey Warden and if not for him, the darkspawn below Fort Drakon might have taken us by surprise. You should be thanking him for his dedication to his Order and to Ferelden."

Luke glanced at the grey light filtering through the high windows at the rear of the Landsmeet Chamber. It seemed he could measure time by how the windows brightened and how his gut tightened. Fatigue warred with frustration. But he understood this need for talk, for planning, for reports.

Alistair gave him a small nod and Luke summed up his findings. He edited his tale for content and clarity, leaving out the game of hide and seek and glossing over his fear, expressing instead his concerns. He finished with, "The taint had receded this morning, but they are down there, and if they haven't discovered that tunnel yet, it won't be long." Did that sound too dramatic? Luke frowned, but decided in this case, erring on the side of drama would be a good thing. The sooner they found out what lay beneath Fort Drakon, the sooner they could deal with it.

Alistair pushed himself to his feet. "So there you have it. I would advise sending your families home and if you can lend men, I'd rather have more soldiers in the city that I need than be left short." He glanced from one noble to the other before adding in a careful tone. "Depending on what we find beneath the Fort and the extent of the plague within the city, I may postpone the Landsmeet. I will endeavor to keep you informed. Now, if you will excuse is, we have a tunnel to inspect." Alistair strode down the steps leading to the throne before turning around and nodding again to the nobles. "Thank you for attending me on such short notice."

Arl Wulff had been silent the entire meeting and now he stepped forward and called out, "Your majesty, is it wise for you to go into these tunnels?"

Alistair turned around and looked at the father of his wife. His expression softened. Luke knew the King liked and respected the Arl, they had a friendly relationship. "Wulff, I have to. A King leads his men into battle, and I am one of only two Grey Wardens in Denerim."

Sighard stood up and nodded towards Wulff. "I agree with Wulff, you should not go, you are no longer one of these Wardens, it is too dangerous."

One of these Wardens? Alistair was not going to like that. Luke felt a further kinship with the King then. He knew Aedan and Wulff meant well when they sought to keep himself and Alistair from doing their duty as Wardens, it was a protective gesture. But part of being a Warden was accepting that you would always be one. Not just because the taint coursed through your body, but because you had chosen to fight for a cause you believed in, the safeguarding of humanity. There could be other demands upon your time, your thoughts, but beneath it all you would always be a Warden.

Luke took a deep breath and stepped in to defend his Brother. "Even if they ran the entire way, the Order will not arrive from Amaranthine before tomorrow night. We need to search those tunnels now, to assess the threat if nothing else." Wow, he'd sounded just like Aedan then! Luke hoped he didn't flush; instead he concentrated on looking serious and older than his nineteen years.

Maddox shot him a disdainful look but Luke did not back down. He stood by his King ready to add his voice again if necessary. Maddox's voice barely carried across the stone floor as he passed comment. "Cailan did not fare so well against these darkspawn."

And awkward silence engulfed the room as everyone within glanced anywhere but at another person. Then Oghren stumped forward and reached up to poke the young Bann in the chest. "You forget who yer talkin' to. Your King was on top of Fort Drakon that night, he helped end the Blight."

Maddox stepped back, but Wulff was not so easily deterred. He walked forward, stepping close to Alistair, and raising a hand, clasping the king gently by the shoulder. He pitched his voice low, for their ears only. "Alistair, you are like a son to me, you and Brenna are all I have."

Luke dropped his gaze. Wulff's wife had passed on the previous year leaving the aging Arl with only his daughter and his son-in-law. Alistair raised his arm and he gripped Wulff's shoulder in return. "I cannot turn from my duty, Wulff, as a King or as a Warden. You know Brenna would support me in this."

As if summoned by his words, Brenna appeared in the doorway. Both men looked at her and she approached their small group. She slipped an arm around Luke and hugged him gently before moving on to kiss her father's cheek and then take a place at her husband's side. Alistair looked at her and then back at them before saying softly, "If you gentlemen would excuse me, I'd like a few moments alone with my wife."

He led her across the chamber to one of the private sitting rooms beyond.

Luke bowed to the Arl and moved to join Zevran and Oghren as they waited in the entrance to the chamber. Zevran cocked his head at him and Luke tensed, wondering if the elf was about to question his right to accompany them, his role as a Warden. Instead, he asked, "Are you alright, Luke?"

Luke dropped his head and studied his boots. A truthful answer might have been, 'Not really.' He was tired, hungry and anxious and if he was going to admit all that he may as well go one step further and add 'scared'. Though a part of him knew Aedan might prevent him from doing his duty were he here, he suddenly missed the man he considered his father.

Looking up again, he said, "For years Aedan has warned us about this, and has done everything he could to prevent this day. His obsession has nearly destroyed him." And it was the reason we made him leave… "Yet almost the minute he leaves, his worst nightmare is realised. It's like a cruel joke."

"I would tell you fate is a harsh mistress, but you already know this, my young friend."

"Zev, what if he comes back and… it's worse, if we have…" failed. "It would destroy him."

"We will not let that happen."

Zevran did not need to clarify which situation they would prevent. One look at the rogue's amber eyes supplied the answer: both.


	16. Captured

Captured

"Why is he still alive?"

The voice roused Leliana from endless space of grey haze she seemed to have inhabited forever. Opening her eyes she blinked against the soft light and studied the view before her. A bed canopy, not one she recognised. The deep red brocaded fabric contained a pattern of swirled fleur de lis and she could not focus on it for too long, the coils of the design confused her eyes. She rolled her head to the side and her brain seemed to catch up later, making her vision swim. Leliana closed her eyes and took shallow breaths, knowing nausea would soon follow. It did, but she quelled it, keeping her breathing even, her eyes half closed and her mind focused on the task.

When the swirling sensation eased, she opened her eyes again and studied her surroundings. A bedroom, neither too plain nor too ornate, but one that held personal touches, a feminine essence.

A low murmur sounded through the wall and Leliana could discern neither tone nor words. The first voice answered with no care for the pitch and volume of his voice.

"He killed my wife!"

The lower voice answered again, only to be cut off by the anguished yell, "You said he was weak. I would not have agreed to this otherwise."

Leliana slowly came to the realization that the voice she heard spoke Orlesian and that she recognised it. Felix Mason. With a gasp, her memory of the ball came rushing back to her, the dresses, the sparkling chandeliers and the music all swirled inside her head and she fought off another wave of nausea and focused once more. Anna Mason had approached her in the ladies room at the ball. The Mason's had made her nervous all evening, she had detected some indefinable quality in both of them that had put her on alert. But they had shown only a reserved friendliness and Anna had nothing but a warm smile on her face as she plucked at the material of her dress and complimented its fineness.

Anna wore a dress of pale blue that well suited her paler complexion and grey eyes. Though a similar shade, their hair differed in brightness and intensity and the other woman complimented her on that too. Leliana accepted both remarks with grace, feeling that Anna might be trying to be friendlier. Perhaps she had misjudged her?

Anna leaned forward and confided in a low tone, "The Empress has your husband on the dance floor."

Leliana chuckled, this she _had_ to see. Catching the mood Anna had tried to impart she answered, "Does he look terribly uncomfortable?"

With a girlish laugh, Anna waved a hand. "He is faring better than Felix has in the past. My husband quivers at the sight of that woman."

Leliana raised a brow as she detected a slightly sour note in the other woman's tone. The moment passed quickly however as Anna leaned forward and appeared to sniff at her. "I do not recognise the scent you are wearing, is it Ferelden?"

Flushing lightly, Leliana nodded. The scent she wore was always the same, a distillation of her favourite flower, one Aedan had had prepared for her and that they both enjoyed for various reasons. "Aedan had it made for me."

Anna's manicured brows rose and she gave Leliana an appraising look. "He is a most unusual man it seems."

Leliana could not detect the undercurrent to this statement and so she decided to ignore it. "And the scent you are wearing?" she enquired politely.

Something flared in Anna's eyes then, pleasure, interest, triumph? As Leliana closed her eyes on the memory and rolled her head to the other side of the bed, she realised it had definitely been triumph. The woman had pulled forth an atomizer and as Leliana bent close to inhale the scent, Anna had depressed the button and a cloud of poison misted her nostrils, coated her lips and tongue, stung her eyes. As she slid to the floor, she cursed herself for a fool, and opening her eyes to inspect the other side of this bedroom, she cursed herself again.

But self recrimination would solve no mysteries; she needed to gather her resources, mental and physical. She tried to draw deep, calming breaths, but her chest seemed somewhat constricted. Leliana raised her head to see if she had been bound and realised then that she had, but not about the chest. Her arms were spread and her wrists were tied to the bedposts. A quick survey revealed the rest of her body was free, but effectively immobilized without the use of her arms. The argument through the wall continued.

"Horses? Yes, I have the damned horses. What did you do with Anna?" His voice took on an anguished tone as he asked after his wife.

A murmured response.

Felix's voice began to move away from the wall and the volume changed as he seemed to pace back and forth.

"Rushed… change… obsessed…" was all she could make out, his rant indispersed with quiet offerings from the other party.

"I fail understand your plans, why this man? You toy with my future!"

The low murmur answered once again, loud enough for Leliana to detect the conciliatory tone, but little else. It was a woman, she could tell that much and at least one possibility came to mind, but she quickly dismissed it as making little sense. What concerned her more right now was the identity of the man who had killed Felix's wife. Could they possibly be talking about Aedan? Had Anna tried to subdue him as well? Hope and worry rose within her in a tangled spiral and the nausea returned along with tears.

Leliana couldn't help wallowing in pity then, the timing of her predicament, the thought that Aedan may be hurt or possibly… why now? She closed her eyes over her tears, knowing her emotions would not help her now, but the day, the ups and the downs, the despair and the delight, tugged at her and so she lay there and indulged herself a few minutes longer. Perhaps if she wept now, she could be stronger later.

The voices faded away as her tears dried and Leliana tugged at her hands in a futile gesture. She wanted to draw in upon herself, hug herself and comfort herself. The temptation to yell and pull at her bonds tore through her, fueled by anger, uncertainty and fear, and she had to draw in several deep, long breaths in order to calm herself.

Two things, she had to concentrate on two things. Whose voice murmured just beyond the reach of her ears and why had they taken her and possibly Aedan?

The hours drifted by and Leliana faded in and out with the passing time, welcoming sleep when it came, but also looking forward to the times when her eyes opened and she discovered she still existed, albeit as a prisoner. She could not judge the passage of time well in the windowless room, but guessed she had been here for at least a day when the door finally opened.

Immediately she tensed, pulling against her wrists and readying her legs, preparing to fling herself at whoever approached at the soonest possible opportunity. A delicately featured elven face appeared in her field of vision and Leliana frowned. No spark of recognition caught her and when the petite woman spoke, she did not know the voice. The high, lilting tone did not match the low murmur she had heard before.

"There is only one exit to this room. You would not make it over the threshold alive." The woman paused and Leliana nodded slightly. As if this was the expected response, the instructions continued. "I will now loosen your bonds. When it is time for you to sleep again, you will lie like this and wait to be restrained once again." Another pause, another nod. "If you comply, _he_ will not be harmed."

'He'? Aedan? Leliana considered her options carefully now. Her instincts told her that if whoever had captured her wanted her dead, she would be already. As far as Aedan's fate, she had no idea, the threat of harm to him might be a ruse, this woman had not named him. Either way, frustration and anger at her situation threatened to take hold and so she pushed aside the emotions and adopted a cool expression, one that neither confirmed nor denied she'd understood the final instruction.

The woman studied her for a moment and then leaned forward to loosen the cord about the wrist closest to her. Leliana did not move, she lay perfectly still and as the elf moved to the other side of the bed, she tensed every muscle. The woman bent forward to loosen the second cord and Leliana snapped her legs up, aiming her knees at the back of the woman's hip. She rolled at the same time, free arm coming up to block a downward elbow strike and their arms jarred against one another, both of them wincing slightly. Leliana kept moving, trying to get her legs in front of the woman now, to kick her away and she succeeded, her heel catching the front of the hip and pushing her backwards. The woman stumbled and Leliana rolled completely off the bed.

Her head spun as she came upright too quickly and black dots danced in the corners of her vision as she advanced upon the woman. She took three steps before her wrist caught and tugged, the cord not loose enough to let go, and the woman came towards her instead, both hands balled into fists, both aimed differently. Leliana ducked one and blocked the other, but could not avoid the kick that followed. The force of the heel that drove the air from her lungs belied the petite size of the elf and Leliana fell back gasping, cursing her stupidity. The dizziness had undone her; she should have chosen a better opportunity. She hit the edge of the mattress and slumped to the floor, her arm jerked upwards by the cord that still held her wrist.

The elf loomed over her and Leliana adopted a posture of defeat, letting her shoulders and head drop.

"Are you finished?"

Leliana didn't want to give in yet. No one had come charging through the door, though their struggles had been mostly soundless, and so she pushed herself forward again, using her head this time, driving it into the other woman's abdomen. She heard a soft 'Oof' and the elf took a single step back before lifting her front heel from the ground. Leliana knew another kick was incoming and she fell to the side, landing on her hip and narrowly avoiding the blow. She kicked out with her top leg and managed to hook her calf about the back of the woman's knees and buckle her legs. The elf fell backwards and her head connected with the bookshelf behind her with a sharp crack. She did not get up again.

Leliana reached over to untie her wrist and stand up. She heard a footstep behind her and whirled to see a slight man standing just out of reach. He had a dagger balanced lightly in his hand and a malicious gleam in his eye. He cocked his head at the door and Leliana followed his gaze to see two more people standing there, both of them armed. Her posture of defeat was not assumed this time, and she dropped her eyes to the floor.

"You are welcome to try, miss. But if you die, they will have no reason to keep him alive."

He spoke Orlesian, but with an accent, Nevarran or Antivan. His tone urged her to try while his words encouraged sense and Leliana swallowed over the lump in her throat and turning towards the bed, crawled back onto it, sitting in the middle with her legs crossed so as to look unthreatening.

"Perhaps another time, hm?" The rogue bowed slightly to her, then beckoned the other two to come into the room. Between them they dragged the woman away and then one of them reentered with a tray containing a plate of food and a small pitcher of water.

Leliana sat still for a while, part of her expecting an immediate reprisal for her actions and part of her quite unable to move as the adrenaline left her limbs and anxiety took its place. then she reached for her amulet. It was gone. Trying to believe this meant Aedan was alive and they didn't want her to know for sure, she slowly flexed her sore limbs and rubbed at her wrists, encouraging the blood flow to properly return to her numb hands and then she rolled on to her side and hugged herself, drawing up her knees and stretching her aching shoulders.

Leliana lay curled into a ball for a long time, drawing comfort from the smallness of herself this way, before slipping from the bed again, her bare toes touching the cool wooden floor. She then took a proper look at herself. She no longer wore the beautiful red and gold gown Aedan had bought her on her birthday and sadness swept through her as she imagined the fate of her dress, which somehow echoed the fate of their evening together and perhaps more. It was gone. Instead she wore a simple dress of dark blue cotton, and the tightly fitted bodice explained the constriction of her breath. She might not normally have chosen something quite so snug. The skirt fell fairly loose. At least she wore something; it indicated her captors were not interested in her body. Although a small comfort it was all she had to draw upon and so she hugged that thought to herself as well.

Leliana prowled about the room, knowing someone likely observed her every move. With some embarrassment she relieved herself and washed with the provided water. She nibbled at the food that had been left, her tongue and lips still someone what numb from the poison. If any further poison laced the simple meal, she would not have been able to taste it for another day or two. Finally she gave way to hunger and ate it all, if they wanted her dead, she'd be… dead.

She then set to exploring her prison. Although she knew how unlikely it would be that she might find a hidden exit or a weapon of some sort, she couldn't discount the possibility completely until she tried. The contents, the few objects scattered about, the books lining the low shelf, these things might offer clues. Every now and again anxiety would threaten to rob her of breath and weaken her knees as she thought of Aedan. When her mind wandered towards her children her legs gave way and she crumpled to the floor, not able to breathe at all for a few long moments. What picked her up in the end was the knowledge that they were safe, that they were with people she loved. She refused to entertain 'what ifs' and concentrated on the present.

The bed proved solid with no pieces she could pry part, no nails or splinters of wood. The low shelf appeared much the same. The books interested her in that she had read all of them, she felt this was important, but didn't know why and so she put them away and continued with her search. The two paintings were encased in soft gilt frames that would bend or shatter before they could do more than bruise and the landscapes themselves seemed generic upon first glance, two different views of Val Royeaux, one in fall colours, the other a misty, rainy scene depicting the harbor. The grey tones caught her eye and she appreciated the composition before resuming her search. The one low chair had short, stubby legs and though the thick upholstery likely hid a wooden frame, she had nothing but her fingernails with which to tear the fabric.

Frustration began to war with boredom as she paced up and down the room, eyes roaming the useless objects, one after another. The chamber pot could be used to distract, the water jug the only item heavy enough to properly be used as a weapon. The small plate that held her meal proved useless and she'd eaten with her fingers as no utensils had been provided. She had herself and a jug.

Leliana sat before the books again and tried to decipher hidden meanings among the titles. History, politics, a slim volume of adventure stories, a book of songs, a romantic tale and very last, a memoir. This book pinged at her memory. Someone had given her a book like it once and as she turned it over in her hands her skin tingled and her blood began to pulse in her ears. She knew this book, this was her book. The scuff on the back cover, the small stain in the middle, a spilt drink, the fold on the corner of a particular page. Her breath caught in her throat as she dropped the book and she stood up and stepped away from it, as if the pages themselves might harm her.

She had taken nothing with her when she had fled to Ferelden, nothing but the clothes she wore, her wits and her fear and pain. Everything she had owned had been left behind, all her… with a whimper she suddenly recognised the dress she wore. It was hers. The books, they were all hers. Clues, she had found her clues and they caused the blood to drain from her face, her head to pound and her heart to pause in her chest. Leliana raised her hands to her ears as if to block the knowledge from entering her head and she dropped to her knees, crying out in a low voice, "Maker, no."

The door behind her opened and Leliana did not look up to see who entered, she already knew. She squeezed her eyes shut a moment and wished herself away, far, far away.

"You should have killed me when you had the chance, Leliana."


	17. Broken Bones

Broken Bones

A steady drip and plink finally roused Aedan. It seemed as though he'd heard the sound in his dreams, the slow beat that matched the rhythm of his heart. He almost couldn't tell he'd opened his eyes, his surroundings were so dark, and he blinked a few times before he could make out shadows through the blackness, a single dim line of faint grey light that might indicate the bottom of a door. Immediately the smell of vomit assailed his nostrils and he swallowed, tasting it in the back of his throat. He had been awake before this, apparently.

He lay on his side, his knees pulled up and his head pillowed on one arm. Everything hurt. His forearm hurt and he clearly remembered why, it felt as if the knife still dwelled within his flesh. His other arm hurt from her other attempt to stab him. His ribs burned where the bard had sliced him and if he drew too deep a breath he could feel the bruise on the other side, where she had kicked him. He could still feel the tenderness in his groin from her knee. His head ached, not only from the punch she'd landed against his temple, but from the blow behind that had finally taken him down. In addition to this catalogue of wounds from the fight, his elbows and knees felt raw and his body had a general bruised feeling, they had not treated him kindly in moving him here.

Aedan didn't attempt to move for a while; he simply lay as he was, curled up on the cold floor in the dark. He could tell none of his injuries had been tended to and he pondered this. Did they mean him to die slowly, of an infection? Or did they just not care? Who were they? Where was Leliana? He heard the scrape of chains and felt the weight of an iron cuff about his wrist as he reached for his amulet and found it gone. A wave of grief tore through him. The bard had been wearing Leliana's dress. He could still see her broken body lying in the courtyard below, and no amount of blinking would banish it for several moments. His attempts to focus his mind failed, his head hurt too much and his thoughts kept running away before he could marshal them.

Footsteps approached then, the soft scuff of leather boots that paused beyond the slim line marking the door to his prison. A rattle of metal and the scrape of a key in the lock preceded the opening of the door and the lantern light that fell through made him wince and squeeze his eyes shut. The footsteps moved toward him and Aedan growled and tried to lash out with his legs, his arms, anything. He heard the rattle of chains and his arms pulled short of his goal, his legs missing as his body skewed sideways across the stone. His ankles where bound together he had to drop them down and flex his knees to draw them back across the floor. A boot connected with his bruised ribs and he yelled.

"A feisty pair, you two," a gruff voice said against his ear in thickly accented Fereldan. Two? Did he mean Leliana?

"Leli!" he called out, wondering if she were here, in another room or even lying crumpled in the darkness somewhere next to him. He could smell the breath of his assailant as the man hovered above him and he drove his head upwards, wincing as their skulls connected. The man rocked back on his heels and Aedan drew his legs up and braced against his arms this time before shooting his feet out, pushing the man away, drawing satisfaction from the sound of him hitting the floor, and the soft grunt that followed.

He pulled his legs back up, ready to kick again and as he waited for the man to right himself, he tugged against the chains that held his arms and tried to pull his feet apart. A glance at his wrists and ankles confirmed what he suspected: iron cuffs held him. The cuffs about his ankles had only a short length of chain between them, two links, enough for the cuffs to be maneuvered into place, not enough for him to walk. The cuffs about his wrists were attached to a longer chain and this one fed through rings high on the wall behind him. Aedan turned back towards the man just in time to watch him gain his feet. He did not approach, he stayed where he was, beyond the reach of Aedan's feet.

"Where am I?" Aedan growled. "Where is my wife?"

"You will see her soon enough, you will be taunted by her presence. But first I must mete out your punishment."

"For what?"

The man laughed. "You cut my lip with that hard head of yours. That is enough cause, but you had already earned a broken bone before I entered your cell. You can thank your wife for that one."

Aedan shuddered. Thank his wife for a broken bone? This comment made no sense. He tried to draw comfort from the fact that Leliana must still be alive. The man then hugged the dank stone wall and made his way around the edge of the cell. Aedan pulled against his wrists and spun around again, wincing as the movement scraped his bruised hips and knees, gritting his teeth against the pain around his bruised ribs. Where they broken? He shot his feet out again, but missed as the man nimbly leapt aside, an amused chuckle following.

Aedan bent his knees and dragged himself further about to watch his captor's progress and saw him pause at the back of the cell and reach out to pull at the chains gathered there, coiled about a wheel. Almost instantly Aedan felt himself being dragged across the floor towards the back wall.

"No!" He knew he couldn't stop it. He tried though, he pulled against his wrists, feeling the cuffs dig into his flesh, and he tried to grind his heels into the stone floor, and they burned as his skin scuffed across the smooth surface. He threw his weight forward and halted the backward pull for a moment and triumph flared within him. But it was short lived. With a jerk he was pulled backwards again and his shoulder blades glanced off the floor. Inexorably he was dragged across the stone and then up the wall. The man working the chains barely grunted, this exercise obviously familiar and well practiced. Aedan twisted and struggled, every movement useless and only causing more pain as the cuffs scraped against his wrists, but he couldn't stop himself from trying. He knew that once his wrists met the rings in the wall his feet would no longer touch the floor and he'd be vulnerable.

"You do not have to make this so hard. I suspect we will be doing this again soon, it would be quicker if you did not struggle."

Nausea churned in Aedan's gut and he clamped his mouth shut and continued to twist and swing and pull against the chains. The back of his hips met the wall now and his arms began to draw apart as he was raised up the cool stone and he could no longer pull against them quite so well. The clink and rattle of the chains, the relentless pulling, did not stop until the cuffs met the rings and his toes barely scraped the stone below. The stretch across his shoulders hurt and he tried sagging against the cuffs. His toes met stone and the man at the winch clucked his tongue and pulled the chain through another revolution, wrenching his hands against the rings and lifting his feet clear of the ground.

The man locked the device and stepped forward. Aedan made a futile attempt to raise his legs, to kick out, but the stretch of his arms and back combined to make the effort weak, laughable. He growled and tugged at his wrists again in frustration.

"Tell me what you want," he hissed at his captor. He took time to study the man now, and saw before him someone about the same height as he, but with the extra weight of muscle. Dark hair, dark eyes and dark skin gave few hints to his origin and Aedan hadn't concentrated hard enough on deciphering the accent. Not Orlesian, that was all he knew.

"I want to finish my task and go somewhere more pleasant." The man chuckled and reached for something on his belt, a length of wood, a short and sturdy staff.

Aedan's gut clenched and fear built within him. He struggled again, knowing it was useless, and then he reached for his focus once more. This man had mentioned a broken bone; he was going to break bones. Aedan tried not to groan as he began to anticipate the pain; he instead put everything he had into his ill used templar techniques. The man approached from the side, out of reach of his legs and prodded his ribs with the staff, the ribs that were already bruised.

"Ready?"

Aedan flinched and the man chuckled. Then without further warning he drew back the staff and cracked it across the delicate rib bones. Aedan heard them go and he thought he might throw up the pain caught him so sharply. He jerked against the wall, banging his head and gasped a pained sound before he bit his lips shut. The staff prodded again and as he shuddered, the man made a satisfied sound. "I am good! Two in one, you are lucky, my friend. We are done for now."

The man began to walk back towards the door and Aedan gasped out, "Wait!"

"What?"

Aedan tugged against his arms and the man raised a brow at him. "You expect me to let you back down after that performance? I do not think so." He cocked his head a moment and then approached the chains and Aedan thought perhaps he had changed his mind, but the man only undid one revolution, allowing his toes to touch the floor again. "Behave and I will think further on your… position." The man chuckled and the sound followed him out the door, only disappearing as it shut behind him, cutting off all light and the outside world.

Aedan hung alone in the darkness once more. Maker, he hurt, even more than when he'd woken up, he hurt and he found it hard to clear his mind and think. He decided not to for a while and just dwelt in that place along the edge of consciousness where nothing makes any sense until the fire receded from his ribs and he could take cautious and shallow breaths without black spots dancing in his vision.

None of his questions had been answered, except that perhaps Leliana lived. Aedan began to take stock of his situation. It didn't take long, he was naked but for his underwear, and chained to a wall. Pondering his state of undress briefly, he wondered why they'd left his underwear in place, were they prudish, or did it represent his captor's sense of humour? He'd already counted his wounds, he didn't know where he was and he hoped his wife was alive. He still lived, that was it. He tried to ward off the defeat that wanted to sweep in and take hold. He worked instead on his focus, his calming techniques, he had a feeling he'd need them again, soon.

His shoulders and arms began to burn as he hung against the wall and his various cuts and bruises faded in and out, some burning, others aching, the pain in his ribs retreated into a dull throb and hunger began to gnaw at his gut. Intense taunted him. Eventually he withdrew to the edge of consciousness again and skimmed along in a nearly vegetative state. He let his mind wander wherever it wanted to and of course it veered towards his loved ones, Leliana, Luke, Riordan and Grace. Anguish pulled at him then, it hurt as much as his physical wounds, and he tried to comfort himself with his favourite memories of his family and at some point he fell asleep.

The door opening woke him and Aedan squinted against the light from the corridor once more. From the outline of the head and shoulders, he could see his captor had returned, but this time he had company. As the burly man stepped into the cell he caught sight of his companions and his heart lurched. Leliana stood there; he couldn't see her face, only her hair in the light behind her.

"Leli!" he called out, his voice hoarse and dry, almost a whisper. He pulled against his wrists and bucked against the wall, reawakening the pain in all his wounds, scraping more skin from his shoulder blades and heels. A sobbing breath came from her direction and then the person behind her propelled her forward, into the cell.

He couldn't make out the identity of that person until she spoke.

"There he is, Leliana."

Her voice stirred the nausea in his gut again and he shuddered. Marjolaine. Would every life he had spared come back to haunt him? First Anora, and now Marjolaine. He growled wordlessly and bumped against the wall again in frustration. He saw Leliana twist against the woman and he could just make out that her arms were behind her, no doubt bound. But she looked otherwise whole; she wore a dress and did not move as if in pain. He wanted to sag in relief at her apparent health, but kept himself rigid and met her eyes instead. He couldn't make out her expression, the light came from behind her still, but he knew she could see his and he tried not to show how much pain he felt, how defeated he felt, how trapped.

He saw her shoulders tremble and then stiffen and he said her name again, softly. He saw her try to take a step forward, but the man moved in front of her and Marjolaine jerked her back with a twitch and Aedan heard the telltale rattle of chain.

Marjolaine nodded toward the man. "Quickly, Bastion, it smells in here."

Bastion removed the staff from his belt and moved forward and Aedan tensed, his breath catching in his throat. Maker, no. Why?

His jailor, he could no longer call this man his captor, another had taken that role, paused beside him and muttered softly, "It seems my lucky strike did not impress the mistress. You've another one coming, are you ready?"

No! The staff prodded his ribs again and Marjolaine called out, "Not there. His face. Break that nose of his."

Aedan swallowed and jerked his head back against the wall, he couldn't help it, he'd had a broken nose before, he knew what it felt like, and he did not want to feel it again.

"Please, no." Leliana pulled against Marjolaine and Aedan could see her whole body tensing and knew she prepared to spin and attack the woman, to struggle to free herself. He admired Leliana's abilities, he trusted them, but he also knew that in close quarters a man like Bastion would overwhelm her, even if she did manage to put Marjolaine down. Her arms were bound and he would be of no use himself, chained against the wall, and he could not bear the thought of watching them hurt his wife while he could only yell uselessly at them.

"Leli, don't."

Leliana looked up at him and he shook his head. "Don't, please. It's only…" a bone.

Aedan didn't see the blow coming, the staff cracked against the bridge of his nose, catching his cheekbone and the world brightened and then darkened. He'd had no time to prepare and he roared in pain and fury. He felt what little control he'd managed to muster begin to slip. He could not name a single emotion, they all fueled the rage building inside and he had no weapon into which he could direct the flow, only his own body. The familiar ringing and buzzing began in his ears and he tried to swing his legs out. He couldn't lift them very far, the stretch of his arms, the pain in his ribs, his nose, all over made the effort weak and ineffectual. The trapped feeling coupled with his inability to defend himself nearly tipped him over the edge and he bucked against the wall, pulling and twisting as far as he could, kicking his legs, barely noticing the bumps and bruises he gave himself.

As the buzzing in his ears receded he heard Leliana sobbing and the sound brought him back to himself, he stopped and lay limp against the wall and he felt the blood stinging his cracked lips and dripping from his chin. Habit had him sniffing and pain lanced up his nose, boring into his head and he gasped and choked as blood ran into his mouth. He opened his eyes and saw they all stood there, Leliana's shoulders trembling now.

"Kneel." Marjolaine tugged downwards and Leliana dropped to her knees.

Marjolaine tipped her head towards Bastion and the pair of them walked to the door. Bastion left and Marjolaine paused on the threshold. "Be sure to tell him why I had his nose broken, Leliana" she said and then stepped through and closed the door behind her. The room fell dark again.

Leliana struggled to her feet and ran to him. She collided with him, banging him against the wall and the pain in his ribs flared, causing him to hiss and gasp for breath. "Leli, my ribs," he whispered and she pulled away with a soft cry.

She couldn't touch him with her arms behind her back, she could only lean against him gently and she did so until he told her when to stop, and then she rested there, both of them drawing comfort and strength from the contact between their bodies.

He found it hard to talk, his throat constricted with pain and sorrow. "Are you well, Leli? Did she hurt you?" His voice sounded thick, he could not breathe through his nose and moving his mouth hurt him. The blood still trickled across his lips and down his chin and he resisted the urge to spit, letting it run.

Leliana's breath caught in a sob and she shook her head. "I am well. But, Aedan, you are so hurt. I'm sorry, it's my fault."

"No, it's not. I should have killed her, I'm sorry, love, I'm so sorry." He felt tears gather behind his eyes but blinked and forced them away. Broken as he was, he had to be strong for her, he couldn't let her know how worried he was, how hurt and useless he felt. He tried instead to make sense of their situation.

"Why are we here, Leli, what does she want?" Revenge, he supposed, but perhaps Leliana knew otherwise?

"Other than to torment me, I do not know."

"Why did they break my nose?" He didn't really want to ask…

"Because I fought back, Aedan, I'm sorry." He felt her lurch against him, felt her shaking, felt her tears against his skin.

"Don't be sorry, if you can do it again, get out of here, do it." He had many more bones that could be broken.

"No!"

"Yes, Leli."

Aedan strained against his wrists, tried to pull down the extra inch he needed to touch her hair with his lips. The movement sent waves of pain through his broken nose and as he moved his face he felt the bruise on his cheek. He caught his breath in a sharp hiss and Leliana made a soft sound and brushed her cheek softly against his skin.

"No," she whispered.

Tears threatened again and he swallowed against them. Everything had started to feel blurry and he knew the pain ate away at his constitution, he'd pass out soon, he could feel it coming, the lassitude in his muscles and limbs, the way his body craved the relief of oblivion.

"Leli, I'm so tired."

"Sleep, my sweet Warden. I will watch you."


	18. Tevinter Ruins

Tevinter Ruins

Alistair gently shook Luke's shoulder and whispered to the young man. "Luke."

His fellow Warden roused and blinked groggily at him in the low light of a torch that sputtered in a niche on the wall across the corridor. Alistair had no idea how long they had slept for, time ceased to have meaning without day and night, but he had called a halt when he had seen Luke's head dropping forward as he walked. He had needed sleep himself also, and he did feel refreshed, despite the fact the taint now felt stronger than ever.

So far they had not encountered any darkspawn, but what they had discovered astounded. The corridors were of a different design to the fort, the architecture somehow sturdier, yet more refined. It reminded him of the ruins where they had found Andraste's ashes. Niches lined the walls and several of the statues residing within were truly terrifying. They depicted men and women in various attitudes of torment and the faces of a few held expressions he hoped would not revisit him in nightmares.

Rooms opened off the corridors at regular intervals, most inaccessible because of cave-ins or blocked doorways, piles of rubble and fallen stone. The few rooms they had been able to enter contained dust that might have been books or scrolls, hard lumps of almost petrified candles, desiccated furniture that looked as if it would disintegrate at the merest touch, and more of the statues.

Oghren scouted ahead with Zevran, the odd pair complementing each other's talents. The dwarf claimed he could sense if the stone they walked across was sound and if the ceiling would hold. Zevran checked for and disarmed traps. Maker, why were there so many traps? Luckily they had been simple, but time consuming. Behind the four of them walked a contingent of eight soldiers, and those men reclined about the corridor now and various poses, most of them sleeping, two of them keeping watch.

Oghren snored lightly on the other side of Luke and Alistair nodded to Luke. "Will you wake him?"

Luke shot him a mock glare and reached over to shake the dwarf's shoulder.

"What? What?" Oghren growled and blinked and shook his head before turning to squint at the young man. "I was just getting' to the good bit!"

Luke chuckled and Alistair allowed a smile. Oghren's grumbling woke the other soldiers and Zevran melted from the recesses of the corridor in front of them. The elf squatted down in front of him and Alistair noted he looked tired. "Zev, you should have slept."

"I did sleep. I also disarmed more traps."

Oghren had stumbled to his feet, one of the ubiquitous leather strips already hanging from his lips. "Alright men, let's eat, do our business and get on with it!" he growled around his meal.

Alistair chuckled properly this time and he was suddenly reminded of being in the Deep Roads with Aedan and their companions. He remembered Leliana's reaction to the fact Oghren ate and thoroughly enjoyed nug and how Aedan had worked to comfort her. A gentle smile pulled up the corners of his mouth as he remembered Aedan and Leliana together, they had been so newly in love and they had been in the darkest place they could imagine. He didn't think any of them would forget the horrors they had encountered in the Deep Roads. His thoughts turned to his own wife then, and her tearful goodbye.

"I'll not ask you to stay," Brenna had said, though he could see she wanted to.

"I will be back."

She offered no reply, simply wrapped herself around him and nodded against his chest.

He had survived the Deep Roads, he would survive this. Alistair glanced about at his companions, Oghren, Zevran, Luke, the eight soldiers who were all known to him. Good men, worthy men. They would return. With a sharp nod to no one in particular, Alistair pushed to his feet. As if he'd given the signal, the rest of the group stuffed food into mouths and packs, took last sips from their canteens, and rose to join him. They were ready to continue.

Alistair stepped to Zevran's side. "Why are there so many traps?" he asked, not really expecting a response.

"They are very old, simple, rudimentary, hence my ability to effectively disarm them, Alistair." The elf shot him a rueful grin. Previously, Leliana had been their traps expert and the Wardens had many trained in the art. "As to the number of them?" He shrugged. "I cannot say. They are a part of history now."

They made their way into the darkness, Oghren and a soldier holding the torch leading the group, Alistair and Luke coming in second, Zevran ranging ahead and behind, pausing in doorways, the rest of the soldiers bringing up the rear. They made it through the area Zevran had cleared ahead with almost disappointing haste and Oghren turned to pass comment.

"Where are all crazy cultists and walking skeletons, ya think?"

"Not here, thank the Maker." Alistair couldn't help but chuckle.

Not five minutes later he felt it, the shift in the taint, the swell. He heard Luke gasp softly beside him and turning his head found his fellow Warden staring at him. They had stopped still in the corridor and everyone halted around them.

The taint surged towards them and Alistair felt it as a wave of nausea, the hair rising along his arms and neck, a shiver down his spine, sweat stood out on his forehead. He nodded at Luke and they donned their helms and the rest of the party followed suit. The corridor echoed with the sounds of blades being drawn and two soldiers stepped back to un-sling their bows, loosen their quivers and notch arrows.

Alistair heard a soft whisper beside him and realised Luke prayed.

Oghren signaled his men and they formed up where they were, setting position and waiting for the darkspawn to come to them rather than head into more traps. "Torches, men," he growled, nodding at the regular brackets in the wall and two of the soldiers began the task of lighting their battleground.

Then they waited.

They did not have to wait long, and Alistair experienced again a rush of memories, the Deep Roads, the ruins beyond Haven, the Elven city, dark corridors and mindless enemies. He could smell them coming, he could hear them, and then there they were, the grotesque creatures themselves. A moment of panic tightened his gut as the number of genlocks and hurlocks approaching refused to be easily counted. So many of them! But they looked as they always had, mismatched armour, filthy weapons, mindless, fearless, and oddly, he took comfort in that fact.

Alistair raised his shield and charged forward, Oghren flanking him on one side, Luke on the other. They met the forward charge with the impact and clang of metal against metal and Alistair heard Luke's war cry reverberate off the stone walls. He bashed his shield into the face of the first genlock, the force of his blow knocking the creature from its feet, and immediately swept down with his sword with a practiced gesture, finding that space between chin and shoulders, cleanly separating the head from the neck. The black ichor spurted forth, thicker than human blood, not as vital, and the stench of it assailed his nostrils. Without pausing he stepped over the body, raising his shield again to ward off an axe and lifted his sword for a forward thrust.

Oghren swept the creature away from his shield with a mighty swing of his two handed axe, yelling insults at the darkspawn as he did so. The head of his vicious weapon sliced through armour and out the other side, continuing in an arc that caught another genlock, cutting it down just as effectively as if it had been his only target. More gore flew against the walls and splattered their armour, the air starting to take on the tang of battle. Luke flanked the genlock Alistair had thrust towards, attacking it from the side with a lightning fast flurry of his blades before turning neatly, swinging both weapons around and catching an oncoming hurlock across the breastplate, stopping it's forward motion. Arrows whizzed past their helms, lodging into the head of one, the neck of another and both darkspawn dropped before them. Four down… many to go.

The forward soldier also carried a shield and Oghren moved to partner him, the pair working one side of the corridor, leaving the other to the Wardens. Alistair and Luke parted company for a few moments, letting several of the mindless creatures pass between them, feeding targets to the soldiers waiting patiently behind, before closing ranks once more and choosing their next foe. Zevran appeared to the left of Oghren, his blades a blur of motion as he backstabbed a shorter genlock then turned with a dual sweep and neatly beheaded another. He threw back his head and laughed, "Aha!" and launched himself from the chest of the downed darkspawn, both his sword and dagger pointed forward, effectively skewering the next hurlock in his path. The elf ducked beneath the spray of black fluid and raised his foot to dislodge the body from his blades, withdrawing them with a sucking noise that echoed in one of the odd silences that occurred between the clash of sword against sword and armour.

Shield bash, thrust, parry, shield sweep, thrust, parry, bash, bash, bash, down, thrust. Alistair fell into his rhythm and he forgot entirely that Aedan did not fight at his side. Luke filled the role almost flawlessly, the young man effectively flanking and catching targets, ducking and weaving, making as little sound as father – the occasional grunt falling from his lips as he extracted his blades from the crevices and cracks of armour and turned to find his next opponent. Bodies piled about them and Alistair mimicked Zevran, using the chest of a dead creature to gain the height he needed to thrust his shield across the helm of the biggest hurlock they'd yet faced, pushing it back, then jumping and sweeping his blade up and across.

He and Luke moved to the side of the corridor, the middle had become blocked with bodies, and the darkspawn began to climb across their dead brethren. Alistair let them pass, there were plenty more ahead. The stench of the dead cloaked his nostrils now and hung like a miasma in the thick air of the corridor and they had to watch their footing as pools of ichor black as grease coated the floor and smeared the walls. As they worked their way past the pile of bodies they met a glut of darkspawn, a tightly clustered mass that refused to pass and Alistair found himself forced backwards for the first time, his manner defensive now as he fended off the blows from two separate creatures at once. Luke could not get around to flank and had to settle for forward thrusts of his own weapons, seeking out any gaps in the armour. Alistair used his shield less as a weapon and more as a guard as the darkspawn began to press. They were forced to take more backward steps. He heard Oghren roar in pain, but did not dare turn his head. Instead he yelled, "Commander?"

"Just a bruise!"

They redoubled their efforts, and arrows began once more to find their mark, dropping indiscriminate darkspawn from the cluster, thinning the ranks enough for them all to take a deep breath and push forward once again. Then the arrows changed direction, foul barbed things came flying towards them from the dark recesses of the corridor behind the enemy and Alistair had to split his focus three ways. He reached for his templar training then, his centre, adding dodge to his litany of bash, thrust and parry.

He heard a gurgle and crash behind him and knew without looking an arrow had found a human target and he had to grit his teeth and harden his heart, knowing it was not his job to turn and tend to his soldiers. Instead he raised his shield once again, felt it reverberate under the blow of a massive weapon, ducked, swept his sword out wide, parried, and did it all again.

Luke hissed audibly beside him and threw himself against the wall. Alistair chanced a quick look in his direction and saw his fellow Warden snapping and arrow shaft off against the wall before rejoining the battle, the head and shaft buried beneath the join of his pauldron. The darkspawn surged forward again and Alistair suddenly felt the direction of the battle change. He didn't know if he was the first to acknowledge it, or of every one of them sensed it together, but they were about to be overwhelmed. There were too many creatures flooding the hallway now, their number seemingly endless, and his determination began to falter as he considered the odds.

Zevran appeared at his side and in a tone devoid of disdain for the enemy said, "Alistair, we need to retreat."

Alistair nodded. "I agree." Turning his head he yelled at Oghren, "Commander, fall back!"

Oghren did not hesitate and neither did his men. They immediately parted ranks, allowing Alistair, Oghren, Luke and Zevran to pass through before closing again, taking the rear guard. The darkspawn fought through and Alistair turned to use his sword again, allowing the creature to press him back, leading him down the corridor. His back hit the wall and Luke stepped past him, engaged with a target of his own. Arrows found their mark. Two more soldiers sheathed their blades and pulled bows from their backs and began the process of halting the darkspawn progress, adding twice the number of arrows.

They retreated in hops, stopping to fight the darkspawn that followed, backing up the archers, then allowing their comrades to pass and take up a new rear line. Still the darkspawn followed. Alistair could feel the sweat inside his armour now and every time he raised his blade, his shoulder burned a little more, every time he blocked with his shield he thought his arm might break. He was tiring. This battle had evolved from the expected skirmish into an all out clash against superior numbers.

Another soldier fell, an axe buried in his helm and they had to leave him where he lay. They had no mages, no healers.

To Alistair's enormous relief, their next series of hops put them ahead of the darkspawn forward line and as if the distance discouraged further advance, the creatures hesitated and milled for a moment. Alistair clapped his gauntlet against the shoulder of the soldier nearest him and yelled, "Go, go! Get back to the fort, don't stop, tell them… everything!"

The barely paused to bow. He reached to his belt for a torch, struck it alight from another and pelted down the hallway, his light disappearing around the next corner. Alistair tried to calculate how long it would take him to return without having to stop for tracks or look for darkspawn.

Oghren caught up to him and jerked his head in the direction of the retreating soldier. "Let's make a break for it, I figure if we put enough corners between them and us, they'll forget we're here. None too bright these darkspawn."

Alistair nodded, it was a plan and they needed one right now. None of these men could stand and fight for much longer without them taking further injury. He called out to the archers. "Put up your bows, let's get some distance."

They turned and ran.

Alistair did not look over his shoulder until they'd put two bends between themselves and the enemy. He didn't need to, he could sense the taint, and it wasn't until they gained that much distance that the oppressive weight of it began to lessen. After exchanging a glance with Luke he urged the men on and the traversed two more corridors, rounded two more corners. The taint dropped away behind them and Alistair slowed his pace before calling a halt. He let the men breathe and stepped to Luke's side.

"Are you hurt?"

Luke glanced at his shoulder and shrugged as if to dismiss the wound, then winced at his mistake. "It's fine. The darkspawn, there are so many!"

Alistair nodded. "We need to get back to the Fort. We'll return with more men after we've had some sleep and tended to the wounded."

Zevran appeared behind them. "They have halted, but not retreated, they," he sighed, "We will not need to return for the bodies."

Alistair swallowed; glad his helm hid his expression. He signaled the men. "Let's go."

They did not stop again until they reached the original passage way and clambered one by one over the rubble that had been left blocking the bottom of the arch. It formed a natural defensive choke point and Alistair could feel the points of the twenty arrows aimed from the top of the staircases as he stepped through. To their credit, though they recognised their King, his golden armour stained black as it was with gore and grime, they did not lower their aim. They remained steadfast as the rest of the party emerged from the tunnel and mounted the stairs.

The Colonel stepped forward, his eyes wide with alarm. "Your majesty, are you wounded?"

"No. But some of the men are." He paused and dropped his head. "We had to leave Brian and Grady down there." Forty two victims of the taint, now two military casualties of this war, forty four souls in all. Alistair hoped they would not begin to lose count, start to forget their names. With a slightly shaky breath he enquired, "Is Nicholas about?"

"This way." Scanning his armour, Peter shook his head slowly. A veteran of the siege, he well knew the look and stench of darkspawn gore and he paled as he asked, "How far in are they?"

"About two hours at a jog." Two hours. They had slowed their pace after the first thirty minutes, after he had been sure the darkspawn did not intend to follow immediately. Then Oghren had led the men at a jog the rest of the distance, covering it in a third of the time it had taken them to travel in the opposite direction. Alistair now wished they had left some of the traps. Perhaps that had been their original purpose? Had the Tevinter inhabitants of this fortress known that the darkspawn dwelled below? Questions, always more questions.

They met Nicholas in the first of the dining rooms at the top of the two flights of stairs. Furniture had been rearranged and the room had been set up as a fall back and interim command post. The second dining room functioned as a mess and impromptu nap area. They had also restored the disused armory, transferring a stock of weapons and armor there for easy access. The Colonel had directed his men to create a fort within a fort.

"Your majesty!" The young mage jogged forward, wringing his hands. "Are you hurt?"

"No." Alistair beckoned Luke forward and helped him un-strap his shoulder and breastplates. The young Warden grimaced in pain, but struggled to keep a brave face. His wound, while deep, was not life threatening and after pulling the arrow shaft and head from his shoulder, eliciting no more than a hiss and a grunt from Luke, Nicholas closed his eyes and raised his hands. Alistair watched the wound close, and he could almost feel the invisible fingers working, he remembered well the touch of mage healing.

After tending Luke, Nicholas moved to check Oghren's bruised side and apparently set two ribs. Zev had a cut across his cheek, one of the soldiers had taken an arrow in the narrow gap between his breastplate and armoured legs and another soldier had suffered a broken arm. Two soldiers lay dead in the tunnels behind them, their bodies no doubt already stripped of armor and weapons and then dragged off to Maker knows where.

Alistair had gone into this encounter with few expectations beyond finding the source of the taint. He had come out of it shaken and now that he had time to stop and think, enraged. Darkspawn, beneath the city, his city. Tentatively, he reached for the taint. Though he could sense it, it was the same as before, they lurked below, their presence nebulous and vague. He did not feel them advancing or retreating. A glance at Luke revealed the young Warden had also touched upon their enemy and they regarded one another silently for a moment.

Without his armour, Luke looked like the young man he was, and Alistair had to resist the urge to coddle his best friend's son. He reached out and clasped Luke's good shoulder and squeezed gently. "I thought I fought side by side with Aedan down there, Luke. He would be proud of your skill, your composure." He saw something flare in Luke's eyes, a warmth, and he smiled. "Not quite what we were expecting, eh?"

Luke shook his head, his own smile somewhat rueful. "I didn't expect so many. I mean, they swarmed Amaranthine, the taint, the stench, it was sort of the same, but they came on in twos and threes and of course Zev tried to lock me in a closet, I only got to kill the one that got past him." He shook his head. "But being trapped in the corridor like that with them, it was kind of hard to breathe down there."

Alistair nodded. "That it was. You'll need a nap after that healing, why don't you get a meal and grab a cot. I'll wake you later. I think we should take turns keeping watch."

Luke nodded in understanding. Between the two of them they had to keep tabs on the taint, they both couldn't rest at the same time. Alistair watched him wander off, again admiring his composure. He had been two years older than Luke when he'd fought his first skirmish against the darkspawn and he did not remember looking so alert or confident.

Hearing a step he turned to find Oghren also watching Luke. "He's a good lad that one," the dwarf said softly.

Alistair could only agree. "Alright, we need a new plan. We've got a day and a half until the Wardens arrive and a horde of darkspawn beneath our feet, and I don't think they're going to sit down there forever."


	19. Advance and Retreat

Advance and Retreat

Luke studied the pattern of cracks in the high ceiling above his head. The grey stone almost appeared marbled beneath the years of dust, grime and fine lines crisscrossing the surface. He held his gaze steady for a few moments, allowing the innocuous misty texture of the ceiling to banish the last traces of the nightmare from his mind's eye. He didn't have the dream often, which he counted as a blessing, and he'd told no one about it. Aedan did not need to know he relived his joining over and over in his sleep throughout the years, woke with the bitter taste of it in his mouth.

Rolling off the side of the cot, Luke sighed as his bare feet touched the cool floor, further drawing him from sleep to wakefulness. Did he feel a tremor, or perhaps the last vestiges of his dream still lingered? Absently he traced the thin grey line that circled his throat, his scar, the reason he'd become a Warden. The skin felt no different beneath his fingers, as smooth as the rest of his neck, but he always imagined he could feel it, the taint.

Dropping his fingers he glanced about himself, taking in the idle activity about the hall. A few soldiers ate, many slept. Alistair sat in the far corner, Brenna at his side. They had their hands clasped together and talked in low tones. Luke pushed himself from the cot and walked quietly over the Alistair and the King looked up with a weary smile. Luke nodded his head in a sort of bow, a sort of greeting. "I don't know if it's morning or night, so I'll just say hello."

Alistair chuckled. "It's night."

Luke simultaneously reached for the taint and nodded towards the far door. "The darkspawn?"

They hadn't moved and Alistair confirmed it. "They haven't moved. Peter led a patrol down there not long after we returned. They are resetting some of the traps and scouting the two junctions we passed."

Luke lowered his voice. "Um, have you felt any more tremors?"

Brenna's eyes widened and she looked from one to the other, but remained silent.

Alistair nodded. "Yes, in fact I just felt one. Nothing like what we felt earlier today… yesterday?" They were losing track of days already. Luke couldn't help wondering if the tremors had anything to do with the darkspawn. The earth did move occasionally, he remembered seeing a fissure in the ground near Gwaren and how Aedan had explained how sometimes the earth jostled and settled itself, as someone might do in their sleep. It had been an amusing image at the time, not so much now.

But to suspect the darkspawn of causing the earth to shake, he didn't know if it was an intuitive leap or the fancy of a child. Luke kept the thought to himself and asked instead, "Any word from the city?"

A pained expression crossed the King's features and Luke wished he hadn't asked. Alistair gripped Brenna's hands and she leaned softly against his side. A ball of dread formed in the pit of his stomach and Luke had to resist the temptation to repeat his question as he waited for Alistair to speak.

"They have had to kill Vaughn and the other 'calm'. They… turned. There is no other word to describe it. Nicholas suspects it is another effect of the amulets." Alistair sighed heavily. "They have found a few more folk wearing the damn things and the peddler is still out there. But the entire city has been warned against him, it will only be a matter of time, I hope."

Luke paused a moment before asking his final question. "Bann Sighard?"

Alistair's shoulder's dropped a brief smile lifted the corners of his mouth. "No effect. He is fine thus far. Perhaps he did not wear the amulet long enough? The mages are studying them. I know Taren will be interested in seeing them when he gets here."

Luke nodded. "He will." He stretched his arms up over his head, listening with morbid satisfaction to the crack and pop of tendons in his arms and back. "Well, I'm awake, and that means you shouldn't be."

Alistair chuckled softly. "Ordering your King about I see! You're picking up all of Aedan's best habits."

Luke grinned and shrugged lightly. "King, uncle, brother, you still need sleep."

"Or I might get grumpy and call for your head for being impertinent!"

Luke managed a short laugh and Alistair joined him before standing and pulling Brenna up with him. Brenna stepped forward and gave Luke a brief hug and he took a moment to ask after Rory and Grace.

"They are well, Luke, and in good hands. I'll return to the palace after I tuck the King into bed."

"Tell them I'll come play with them soon." He paused, feeling a light flush steal across his cheeks, and lowered his voice. "Tell them I," …love them, "miss them."

Brenna grasped his arm gently and nodded, and then let Alistair tug her towards another door, presumably to quarters set aside for the King.

Luke watched them go and then simply stood where he was for a few moments, feeling a bit lost and purposeless. He had no idea how long he'd slept for, or how long Alistair would sleep, or what they would do when they awoke. What was he supposed to do while he waited? They hadn't really covered this stretch of time in his training. After pausing a minute longer, touching the taint, finding no change, he made for the door to the rest of the fort.

The main part of the fortress appeared almost deserted, only the occasional room in use, the usual activity now moved to the newly occupied sections. The hall holding the siege engines yawned about him, cavernous and dark and only two guards stood by the doors at the far end. They nodded to him as he passed and Luke picked up his pace until he reached the heavy wooden doors that led outside. Two more guards stood to attention.

"Heading out, Ser?"

"Just for some air."

"Right you are." The guards opened the door for him and Luke stepped through. As the night air wrapped around him, he felt the weight of the taint withdraw somewhat and he let his shoulders drop, closed his eyes and took a deep, calming breath.

He didn't go far, moving only to the bottom of the steps before sitting down and drawing his knees up, folding his arms across them and resting his chin on his forearms. The air shifted beside him and Zevran sat, adopting a similar posture. Luke glanced behind him and saw that the door moved closed again and he aimed a smile at the elf. "Being my shadow again?"

Zevran studied him for a moment before answering. "I desired a taste of the night air, my friend. Perhaps it is a coincidence that our paths have crossed, yes?"

Zevran's presence felt familiar and comfortable. "I'm glad you're here, Zev."

"As am I." The elf's eyes dropped to the slender line marking his neck and he said softly, "Did you sleep well?"

Luke frowned lightly. Did Zevran know about his nightmares? He supposed he might. He and Zevran had shared a tent before, on the road, and his shadow had watched over him during the siege of Amaranthine. He gave a short nod. "I did. You?"

"Aedan and Alistair used to have dreams, during the Blight. I will wake you next time, if you want me to."

"It's alright, Zev, I don't get them often. I am rested."

They sat together in companionable silence for a while and Luke relaxed further. He had always liked Zevran and over the course of the past few years the elven rogue had become his closest friend in a way. Though he knew Zevran watched over him, he also understood that the man enjoyed his company, liked training with him, teaching him new techniques, and startling him with his unique brand of humour. And they had shared silences like this before too, the elf knew when to talk and when to just be there.

"Was it like that in the Deep Roads?" Luke asked, his thoughts finally turning back to the tunnels.

"Yes and no. Mostly yes. You fought well, Luke."

"I have a good teacher."

They exchanged a smile and then both looked up at the approaching sound of hooves clattering over the cobbles. Couriers or Wardens? The horses entered the yard a short while later and Luke recognised their riders, Wardens from Amaranthine.

He stood and ran over as the men dismounted and immediately they exchanged greetings, clasping arms and patting shoulders.

"Luke," the first said with a tired smile.

"Anders, it's good to see you." Luke smiled also to the second Warden, "Jared," before turning his attention back to Anders. "Are they on the road?"

Anders nodded to Zevran, "Zev," then returned his attention to Luke. "Wyman had them on the road not an hour after the message arrived. They'll not be here before nightfall tomorrow."

Jared began to un-strap his massive two-handed sword from the horse's saddle and Luke stepped forward to help with his pack, slipping it over his own shoulder. Zevran moved to the head of one of the horses, making a soft clucking noise and lifted a hand to stroke the long, sweated neck. "I'll see to these fellows here, meet you inside," he said gathering the reins leading the animals towards the stables.

Before Luke could lead them inside Jared paused and touched his arm. "Maker, Luke, how many of them are down there?" Anders's face reflected the apprehension; they had reached for the taint, they had felt it.

As they walked back to the command centre, the fort within a fort, Luke told them everything. He found it amazing that the mere presence of two more Wardens could lift his spirits so much. None of them had considered that Wyman might send two ahead on the courier horses. Messages may not be passed back and forth effectively for a few days, but they had two more Wardens in Amaranthine and one of them a healer. Luke thought of the two soldiers who had lost their lives that day, Anders would have made all the difference in that battle. But Wyman had tried to teach him not to entertain such thoughts, pointing out that self-recrimination and regret rarely led to productive behavior. They had a healer now, a powerful one who was immune to the taint. Now they could break the darkspawn line and discover their purpose beneath Denerim.

##

Luke turned his cheek as an arrow whizzed past his helm before looking down to aim his boot, catching a genlock in the middle and pushing the body from his sword. The torch light reflected off the greasy slime coating his blade, the filth of it catching Luke's eye for a moment before he whirled and lifted both his sword and dagger in a flurry, pulling Alistair's opponent away and down, dispatching yet another darkspawn. He and the King stepped forward together, treading indiscriminately over bodies and discarded weapons.

The corridor ahead illuminated briefly and a knot of darkspawn dissolved in a burst of heat that had Luke lifting his arm to shield his eyes. A hurlock emerged from the haze, half its armour melted away and Oghren swiped it from its feet and a mighty swing, the body crumpling before his axe. Another volley of arrows raced from the darkness, plinking off helms and breastplates, most falling harmlessly to the floor, a sharp cry behind indicating one had found a mark. Luke did not turn, they had a healer, Anders would do what he could.

They advanced, moving into darkness briefly before the flicking light of the flames caught up with them, torches hastily thrown into wall brackets and even to the floor in an effort to light the battlefield. If the light did not affect the creatures as much as it should have, no one mentioned it. Luke tucked the question away for later as he lifted and crossed his blades to intercept the downward swing of huge axe, his arms shrieking in protest at the impact. Setting his feet he drove forward and over, flicking the axe to the side before sweeping his sword up and across. He missed the vital gap, the space between helm and armor, and silently cursed the burn of fatigue in his arms as he tried to draw his sword back. He thrust it forward instead, trusting the sharp blade to pierce armour, knowing he'd have to dislodge yet another body from this weapon, already changing his stance in anticipation of having to kick out with his leg.

A stir of air heralded the return of the axe and Luke raised his left arm to block and winced before it struck, anticipating the pain. His defense, while successful, cost him his arm. The pain as his bone snapped tore a cry from his lips and his arm dropped uselessly to his side, his fingers somehow still curled loosely about his dagger. But the hurlock still faced him with his sword still embedded in its armour and that axe would rise again. Fighting down panic, Luke struck with his boot, pushing the creature from his sword and turned to the side, angling his broken arm way from the next strike. He caught the upward swing of the axe before the move gained power and pushed it down and away and then did the only thing he could. He moved in and swung his sword again, aiming for the neck, catching the spray of dark fluid across his helm as he separated the head, sending it flying towards the wall. Blinking gunk from his eyes, feeling the taint on his skin, Luke drew in a ragged breath and turned to the side, to check for Alistair.

So much gore now flecked all of their armour he almost couldn't tell Alistair from Peter before the torchlight finally caught a glint of gold from the king's plate and Luke ducked and swept his sword across the back of his foe's legs, hamstringing the creature. The genlock dropped and Alistair thrust downwards through the helm, ending its miserable life. They stepped forward again. Arrows flew and they ducked. A fireball erupted over their heads and they blinked and winced. Genlocks and hurlocks charged from the darkness and they raised their weapons in defense.

"What's wrong with your arm?" Alistair yelled over the din.

"Broken," Luke yelled back, working to keep the pain from his voice, his tone matter of fact. The throb from his arm had started to affect his focus and he stumbled on the outstretched arm of the hurlock he had just beheaded and fell against the wall.

Alistair steadied him and jerked his head over his shoulder. "Go."

Luke took a step to follow his king's instruction, but turned in time to see Alistair raise his shield to bash at the helm of a massive hurlock. His fellow Warden's arms must have been as fatigued as his own and the shield missed the helm, striking beneath it instead, and in a turn of bad luck caught there, the top corner lodging beneath a metal chin piece. Alistair swung up with his sword, scoring the armor and turned to deflect a strike of the hurlock's wickedly curved blade with his shoulder plate. Luke turned and flattened himself to the wall, pushed past the hurlock, flanking it, sweeping his blade low and across, attempting a crippling strike. His sword cut through the leather straps holding leg plates in place and barely nicked at the tough dark flesh. The hurlock turned and raised his sword and from his low position, Luke could only look upwards in a fit of panic. He should roll, but to roll on his broken arm, his mind refused to entertain the pain of it and he froze.

"Luke, no!" Alistair's cry echoed off the stone wall beside him just as a rush of air swept up beside him. Luke closed his eyes, Oh Maker, hear my cry –

The blow never struck and he opened his eyes to find Zevran atop the downed hurlock, both of his blades buried deeply within the stiff breast plate. With a grunt the rogue yanked his weapons free and turned to him. Luke could not clearly read the expression in those amber eyes in the flickering torchlight, was it anger, fear?

Mimicking Alistair's earlier gesture, Zevran jerked his head behind him. "Go."

Luke stumbled to his feet, crying out as he tried to use his broken arm to steady himself. "Zev, I…"

"Go."

Luke ran like a chastened child, his cheeks burning in shame, relief, pain, regret. He had forgotten his training, he had disobeyed an order, he had risked the lives of others by putting himself in danger. An arrow scraped along the side of his helm and Luke flinched and watched in horror as it continued on to nick the neck of one of their own archers. His near miss had changed the trajectory just that much. Blood jetted across at him, spraying his armour, the smell of it stronger for a moment than the stench of dead darkspawn and taint that hung heavily in the air about them.

Sheathing his sword and allowing his numbed fingers to drop his dagger, Luke fell to his knees besides the soldier and pushed his fingers over the unlucky wound, trying desperately to staunch the flow of blood. A hand fell on his shoulder and Anders crouched beside him.

"Hold your hand there a moment, Luke."

He did as instructed, feeling the healing energy flow around and beneath his fingers, halting the flow of blood and closing the wound. The soldier's eyes did not open, however, and he remained limp on the floor.

"He has lost a lot of blood, but he will recover. Let's see your arm."

The mage's gentle tone, his warm eyes, did much to soothe Luke. He liked Anders a lot. Besides their shared affection for a cat, they also shared a sense of humour, both of them more amused by a turn of phrase or a whimsical remark than Zevran's more ribald jokes. But in battle, Anders dropped his more casual mien and became an instrument of mercy and destruction. That he could adopt such a gentle tone when necessary helped Luke overcome some of his fear and shame.

"It's broken," he needlessly explained and closed his eyes as those invisible fingers probed his flesh. He gasped as the bone knitted together and slumped to the floor beside the archer, feeling weaker as his body sought to aid in the simple healing. "Thank you," he whispered.

"Anytime!" Anders quipped and rose to his feet once more. With a sweep of his robe, the mage stepped forward again, raising his hand and closing his eyes. Luke felt a wave of regeneration as Anders cast a fortifying spell throughout the corridor. The floor seemed to tremble again, violently, but he couldn't tell if he shook or the corridor did.

##

Opening his eyes, Luke looked for the grey ceiling, the marbled texture and fine lines. He saw only murky darkness marred by flickering shadows. They were still in the corridor.

They had routed the darkspawn this time, a few stragglers finally turning to flee the battle. He had found his dagger and unsheathed his sword and had taken his place beside another warrior, away from the front line. He knew Zevran would partner Alistair in his absence and that neither man expected to see him reappear. He flanked effectively, favoring his sword arm, the targets this far back few and far between. And then it had been over and an eerie silence had muffled his ears as the sound of metal against metal and stone, the grunt and cry of men and darkspawn ceased.

Sitting up, Luke flexed his arm and found it a little stiff, but recovered. He would have to be careful of it for another day or two and the bone would feel bruised, but he could use it. Zevran sat beside him, his blonde hair streaked and discoloured. Luke had asked him once why he never wore a helm and the elf had replied, "I cannot see behind myself when my head is covered."

His answer made a sort of sense, but Luke preferred to have his head encased in metal when they fought. Though dexterous enough for a warrior, as his style of fighting required, he would never match Zevran's speed and nimble attitude. He needed a helm.

The elf's eyes were closed, but Luke knew he didn't sleep. There was a tension to his face and a set to his shoulders that belied his relaxed posture.

"Zev?"

Rolling his head across the wall, Zevran opened his eyes and favoured him with a reproving look. "How is your arm, my young friend?"

Luke dropped his gaze. "Zev, I'm sorry."

"Luke, you are as noble as your father, but do not let it get in the way of sense. Aedan also learned this lesson the hard way, many men do." The elf raised his shoulders in a light shrug. "And many never learn it at all." His amber eyes warmed and he cocked his head. "But I think you have taken it to heart, yes?"

Follow instruction, trust your comrades, ignore the pain and follow instruction. Luke nodded again, more decisively. "Thank you, Zev," for everything, "for being there."

"I will endeavor to always be there, Luke."

Luke closed his eyes and images of the battle swept through his mind, the endless clang of metal, the tang of blood and ichor, the heat, the sweat, the furious and relentless pace. "How does Aedan do this day after day? How do any of you?"

The answer was simple. "Because we must."


	20. Strength and Will

Strength and Will

Leliana sang softly to Aedan until he fell asleep. Her tone wavered and it would never count as her best performance, but she could sense how it soothed him, his breathing became less shallow and he stopped the short gasps of pain he probably wasn't even aware of. She couldn't see him in the dark, could only hear and feel him, so she leaned gently against his side and closed her eyes, picturing him in her mind instead.

Aedan did not wake when the door to the cell opened a short time later.

"Time's up," came the oddly cheerful voice of Bastion from the hallway.

Leliana pressed a kiss to her Warden's skin and fought the urge to cling to him, to disturb him from his slumber, and stepped towards the rectangle of light marking the doorway. She dared not tarry, the idea of Aedan suffering another broken bone, yet more injury, propelled her feet across the stone and into the hallway though her heart tore and yearned to remain in the dank cell with her love.

Her eyes remained dry. She had wept against his side knowing the gesture to be useless, but unable to help it as Aedan had succumbed at last and passed out from hurt and fatigue. Bastion moved to close the door.

"Let him down, please, let him down," she whispered, her eyes imploring the jailor to find some sympathy for Aedan's plight. She immediately regretted the plea. Why had she done that, had she forgotten already the rules of this game? She knew the time she had been allowed with Aedan had not been given out of kindness but as a taunt, a reminder, and a reinforcement of a lesson.

Bastion regarded her lasciviously and raising a brow, licked his lips. "And what do you offer in return for this little favour, hm?"

Leliana swallowed and flushed, dropping her gaze, cursing herself as a fool.

Bastion laughed. "So demure! The mistress was right, you _are_ good." He stepped forward and Leliana resisted the urge to step back as his breath tickled her ear. "Is that how you captured your warrior, with this innocent act? I can see how it would entice."

His tongue swept across her ear and his hands groped the front of her dress. Leliana swallowed against the bile rising in the back of her throat and resisted the urge to raise her knee. Aedan would pay twice the price if she kneed this man in the groin. Instead she held herself stiff and disinterested.

"Tsk, tsk, so aloof! Here, perhaps this will soften your manner, yes?"

Bastion pushed open the door and stepped through. Leliana leaned against the wall in relief as she heard the chains being loosed and the sound of Aedan being lowered to the floor. She chanced a look into the cell and watched as Aedan crumpled down the wall his legs folding, his bottom touching the ground. He rested in a sort of seated position until his arms were lowered, and then he fell sideways and slumped onto the ground. He did not make a sound. Her heart lurched and she bit at her lip again, knowing she could not run to his side. She had to be strong, she had to listen and learn. She had to look for an opening. She would save them both.

Bastion locked the door behind him and turned his attention towards her once again. She raised her chin and regarded him with a defiant expression and he laughed. "Aha! The fire has returned to your eyes. Now we shall have some fun!"

"Bastion!"

"I am busy, Andre."

"Too busy to heed the mistress?" the shadow at the end of the hallway taunted.

Bastion growled and grabbed at her arm, yanking it in a way that caused an involuntary wince to cross her features. Her arms had been bound behind her for over an hour now and her shoulder blades burned. "I know where to find you, miss," he whispered as he led her down the hall.

Holy Maker, what had she done? Could she go through with such an act in order to secure more comfort for Aedan? The thought disgusted and terrified her for the same time. Leliana shuddered and swallowed over the lump her throat. She would not cry, she would be strong.

Marjolaine waited in the room she had awakened to, seated in the upholstered chair. Bastion pushed her through the door and took a step backwards, awaiting further instruction.

"Bastion."

"Yes, mistress."

"If you touch her, I will kill you."

"Yes, mistress."

"You are dismissed."

"Yes, mistress."

The door closed softly behind her and Leliana silently repeated her litany. She would not cry, she would be strong. She had no doubt that Bastion would heed Marjolaine's word. But her relief was short lived. There would be no more sympathy for Aedan and she wondered if even now the jailor had returned to the dungeon to haul her husband's broken body up the wall once again. She would not cry. She would discover Marjolaine's purpose. She would listen and learn.

Marjolaine rose from the chair and crossed in front of her. Plucking at a slender chain about her neck, she revealed a key hanging from the finely wrought links like a pendant and moved behind her. Leliana felt her cool hands as she undid the shackles that bound her wrists, heard the clank of the heavier chain as Marjolaine released her and dropped the cuffs to the floor.

"You smell disgusting and this dress is ruined, you will bathe and change and then we will talk."

Leliana stood still, waiting for Marjolaine to leave, willing the woman to back through the door so she could be alone with her despair, let her mask drop, and carry out her instructions in peace. Marjolaine did not move. Leliana fought against the desire to drop her shoulders, to allow defeat to mark her posture. She would be strong.

"Shall I summon Bastion and instruct him to break another bone?"

No! Maker, the desire to turn and attack this woman swept through her strongly then. Leliana had to clench her fists and fight the mixture of guilt and anger twisting in her chest. Anger at her situation, hatred for the woman behind her and guilt because Aedan had implored her to take any opportunity to fight back, had offered his bones in exchange for her freedom. She raised her heel, almost preparing to spin and strike Marjolaine down and then she stopped, cursing herself as weak. She couldn't do it; she could not condemn him to more pain. She was not strong enough.

Breath catching in her throat, Leliana stepped away from the door, away from Marjolaine, towards the bed. She bent and gathered up the dress laid out on the quilt, another of her own, she noticed. Leliana had not owned many dresses, perhaps four? This one had been her favourite. A dusky rose in colour, it had a sweet neckline and pearlescent buttons. It had been the prettiest thing she had owned. Feeling the burn of impending tears, Leliana blinked and swallowed. She would not cry.

The washstand stood against the wall at the end of the bed and Leliana crossed to it, laying the dress over the upholstered chair. She reached back to undo her buttons, resolutely facing away from Marjolaine as she disrobed, letting the dress drop to the floor. Being naked in front of Marjolaine didn't really bother her; she knew the woman only desired to make her uncomfortable with her presence, nothing more.

A hiss of breath behind her preceded Marjolaine's voice. "You have quite the collection of scars, Leliana. Perhaps I should similarly decorate your husband's back instead of breaking his bones."

Her scars, she had forgotten them. Closing her eyes, Leliana reached for peace. 'I shall embrace the light. I shall weather the storm. I shall endure.' She would be strong. Leliana washed the blood from her skin, where it had seeped through her dress. Aedan's blood. She washed from her face and her hands. She pulled on the pink dress and found it fit much the same as the blue one, a little tightly across her chest and hips. Though she had kept her figure trim, she new why the dress fit differently. She had had a child. "Rory," she whispered, her son, her and Aedan's little boy. She loved Luke and Grace as if they were her own, but Rory was a part of her. She had carried him within. He looked like Aedan and he had her eyes. He was hers. A small sob caught in her throat and Leliana swallowed it. Her throat ached and her eyes burned, causing her to blink again. She would not cry.

Leliana bent to gather the dark blue dress from the floor and resisted the urge to hug it, knowing Aedan's blood stained it, morbidly wanting to keep even this small part of him close. She repeated the chant in her mind; she found her resolve, her strength. She turned to face Marjolaine.

"You used to be more talkative, Leliana." Marjolaine tilted her head and studied her carefully. Leliana stood still under the scrutiny, gathering her strength and resolve. It was time to listen and learn.

Marjolaine indicated she should hang the soiled dress by the door and went to sit in the single chair. Leliana hovered by the door, unsure what to do, feeling rudderless. What did this woman want? Did she really still hold a grudge? And why, why were they still alive? Though Leliana thanked the Maker she and Aedan still lived, it made little sense to her.

Marjolaine crossed her legs and folded her hands in her lap. She wore a dress of fine silk, embroidered throughout with strands of beads and contrasting thread. Leliana did not remember her mentor ever wearing anything so rich; perhaps she had acquired a patron upon her return to Val Royeaux? Her career as a bard had certainly become more lucrative. This house, with its dungeons and secure rooms, would have been quite the investment. On the journey to the dungeon Leliana had established her room either stood on the ground floor, or perhaps even below the ground. They had taken only one staircase down and there were no windows off the narrow hall.

Marjolaine beckoned her forward. "Now it is time to talk, Leliana. I will know if you are lying, and you know what will happen if you try my patience."

"Why am I here, Marjolaine?"

"So you have found your voice at last!" Marjolaine waved her question away. "You know why you are here. I, however, do not. Why have you returned to Val Royeaux?

Leliana blinked. Hadn't they already had this conversation in Denerim? Did Marjolaine actually think she had come to Val Royeaux to look for _her_? After all these years? Leliana fought the absurd urge to laugh and hope bubbled inside of her for the first time. "I did not come here to find you, Marjolaine. I did not even know you had returned to Val Royeaux!"

Marjolaine pursed her lips. "And yet you spent several hours at Felicity Martin's store the day after you arrived."

"To buy a dress!" Her dress, her beautiful dress. What had happened to it? And how was Felicity Martin involved? Wheels began to turn in Leliana's head. A dressmaker to the nobility would be privy to much sensitive information. Did Felicity simply fill the role of informant, or was she…? Leliana couldn't help the flush that took her cheeks; she felt so out of touch! It had been nearly nine years since she fled Val Royeaux, since she left the life of a bard behind. Would it never stop haunting her?

"You and that witch will not destroy my plans." Marjolaine narrowed her eyes. "Oh, yes, I recognised your friend, your companion. Interestingly enough I also recognised her child." Obviously eyeing her fuller figure, Marjolaine continued. "You have a child as well. It is an interesting game the three of you play."

Game? Leliana felt breathless as she worked to unravel the knots and tangles of what Marjolaine said and left unsaid. She tried to explain herself. "Marjolaine, Aedan and I simply came to Val Royeaux for a visit. He is here on business, Grey Warden business. I am his wife, that is all."

"You are chancellor to a King! And your companion schemes to take the same role here in Val Royeaux. Your innocent face will not work here, Leliana. You forget who you are talking to. I taught you how to use that mask."

It is not a mask! She is mad! They had been captured by a mad woman. "Marjolaine, we are not here to…" Leliana stopped and gasped. Things started to click into place. Felix Mason desired the role of Chancellor or Advisor to Empress Celene. Had he hired Marjolaine to help him achieve his goal? Had Anna Mason actually been his wife? Many more questions tumbled through her mind and her heart raced as she arrived at some conclusions and guessed at others. Trying to keep her tone even, Leliana continued. "Let us go, we will leave Val Royeaux today, I will not interfere with your plans."

They both heard the lie of her words and Leliana dropped her eyes to the floor. She could not ignore what she knew. Lives could be in danger, even Celene's! Despair welled within her again and she felt the sting behind her nose, behind her eyes. She would not cry!

"Do you take me for a fool, Leliana? You have earned that man of yours more punishment."

No! Leliana tried not to clench her fists and failed. Fury roiled in her gut and she had to clamp her lips closed over a yell of frustration. She had made a stupid mistake and now Aedan would pay for it. She wanted to yell, 'punish me instead!' but knew that would only earn further pain for Aedan. She wanted to yell, 'I will kill you!' but it would do neither of them any good. She had to listen and learn. She had to be strong.

"What do you want, Marjolaine?"

"I want to know why you are here."

Panic replaced her anger and frustration. Memories swelled and her heart began to pound. This line of questioning would lead nowhere. She had been here before, she had endured questions such as these, had tried to tell the truth, all to no avail. Her scars clearly evidenced this fact. Only this time Aedan would feel the torture, his back would bear the scars. Leliana searched her mind for a truth she could impart, something that might help untwist the perverted knots Marjolaine had tied her life into.

She tried, "Why do you think I am here?"

From the twist of Marjolaine's lips Leliana wondered if she had earned Aedan yet another 'punishment'. Then her former mentor's expression settled into thoughtful calculation. "I think you miss your calling, Leliana."

Her calling? Did Marjolaine mean life as a bard?

Marjolaine did not wait for her to answer or comment, she merely pressed on with her assumptions. "You used to be my best student, but now you are soft, weak. You have split yourself too many ways. You have a husband and a child." Here the disgust in her expression translated easily. Leliana did not drop her eyes; instead she squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. She and Aedan had always believed that their love made them stronger, even when they were apart. Marjolaine might think her words condemned but they only fueled Leliana's resolve now. She would be strong.

"You have forgotten your training and you make mistakes."

"I am no longer a bard, Marjolaine. I left that life behind when I fled Orlais."

"And yet you have returned."

The conversation had circled once again. Leliana could almost feel sting of the whip her torturers had used to extract the 'truth' from her. Gritting her teeth she did not allow herself to wince, but she could do nothing to quell the nausea that swirled in her belly. 'I shall embrace the light. I shall weather the storm. I shall endure.'

"Tell me what to say." Leliana loathed the pleading tone that coloured her quiet words, but she wanted the conversation to end, the game to finish and the punishment Aedan might receive to stop.

Marjolaine chuckled. "Tell me why you are here."

Leliana's body went rigid. With every ounce of strength and will she possessed she fought against the urge to fly at the woman and wrap her fingers about her throat. She wanted to kick and punch and yell vile insults. She wanted to kill this woman. She took a step forward.

"If you kill me, they will kill you and they will kill him." Marjolaine shrugged her shoulders, her expression nonchalant and her eyes lacking any trace of fear. "My plan would not succeed, but if I am not here to oversee its success, that matters little. You, however, have something to live for, don't you, Leliana? You have a child. Would you leave him without his mother? Do you remember your mother, Leliana?"

Oh, Maker, no. Leliana's heart skipped a beat and tears gathered at the corners of her eyes. She clenched her fists and struck her thighs. A noise escaped her throat that did not sound human. Blinking, Leliana tried to hold back her tears. She would not cry…

She closed her eyes and saw her children, all of them. Drawing a deep and shuddering breath, she opened her eyes once more and stared down at Marjolaine. "I will find a way to foil your plans."

Surprise flared in her former mentor's eyes and Marjolaine cackled. "The truth at last! But you are wrong, my dear. You will work for me now, not against me. You will help fulfill my plans."

No! "How?" Leliana had to ask. She would listen and learn.

"Your husband killed the last bard I had inside the royal palace, but I think you will make a suitable replacement. Paul Le Trene should have met with Anna Mason the night of the ball, and likely he would not have survived the encounter. But you and your husband presented a much more interesting challenge. I have foiled your plan, shall we say, and now I will enjoy using you at cross purposes."

'We desired only peace, rest, recovery. We came to Orlais for a holiday!' But to tell this to Marjolaine would only give the mad woman another reason to torture Aedan. Leliana bit her lip and said instead. "What do you want me to do?"

"To kill Paul LeTrene of course! If you succeed, I will feed your husband. I do not think I need to tell you what will happen if you fail."

Leliana gasped and could not stop the horror she felt from showing in her face, colouring her voice. "I cannot!"

"Shall I call for Bastion?"

"Surely they think we are in Val Chevin! You took the horses…"

"So you overheard Felix's whining then. I can think of several reasons you did not accompany your husband, can you not?"

No, she couldn't. Leliana shook her head and reached for another obvious objection. "I have no tools."

"Have I not always provided for you?"

The panic had returned and mixed with the anger, the frustration, the horror and the sorrow. Leliana trembled and covered her ears with her hands, as if she could block it all out, but Marjolaine's words, all of them, echoed in her mind. "I will not take an innocent man's life," she whispered, her voice sounding as if it came from outside, not her own.

Marjolaine stood. "Would you like to watch when Bastion kills your man? Perhaps you would like to choose the method? Something simple and quick perhaps, like slitting his throat? Or maybe I will choose. I might find it entertaining to break all his bones first…"

Stop! "Stop!" Nausea swelled and the room started to spin about her in slow, lazy loops. "Stop," she repeated breathlessly. Don't hurt him anymore. "I will do it."

She didn't want to cry, she really did not.


	21. Darkness and Despair

Darkness and Despair

"Luke, no!"

Aedan ran forward and tried tear the blade from the tainted man's hand, but he failed and a thin dark line appeared across his son's throat just as an arrow pierced the man's neck causing tainted blood to spray across Luke. It seemed as if the blood hissed and bubbled as it met the line around the boy's neck and Aedan could see the taint working its way beneath the skin. As he had not been able to do in life, he fell upon the tainted man, bearing him away from his son, crashing to the ground with the frail body beneath him. Grabbing the knife from stunned fingers he stabbed it down into the dark leathery skin, puncturing the neck and chest, heedless of the spurting blood. He slashed at the face, back and forth, and struck down, again and again, crying out as he vented his rage. No one stopped him. Philippe did not knock him out or talk him down, no hand lay heavily on his shoulder. He did not stop until the knife fell through the bloody pulp below him and lodged firmly in the floorboards beneath.

The haze cleared with the loss of motion and Aedan looked at the mess of gore that used to be a man. Bile rose in the back of his throat and he looked to the side, seeking a place to spew the rising gorge. His gaze caught another body, a boy, lying in a pool of blood turned black and sticky on the floor. The wound across the throat had turned jagged and terrible and blood congealed about it in clots and smears, no longer moving – the heart had ceased to pump it. With a guttural cry, Aedan crawled towards his son, saw the brown eyes open and staring lifelessly, the mouth slack and skin already pale, cooling before his eyes.

"Luke, no…" he gasped, and then looked up, and swiveled his head back and forth, looking for the other Wardens, for Taren. Where were they? Why was he alone with his dead son?

Cold water splashed across his face and Aedan blinked into wakefulness, all the aches and pains in his body roaring to life. He lay on the floor of the dungeon once more and everything hurt, but nothing equaled the ache in the middle of his face. He could not breathe through his nose and every movement aggravated the broken bone. Water, heavy with the flavour of blood and grime trickled into his mouth and Aedan swallowed convulsively, his body crying out for moisture. He licked at his lips and winced as his tongue touched the split skin.

"If you are awake next time you might get a drink." Bastion cackled and threw the bucket at him. "Here, I am sure you know what this is for."

The bucket hit his shoulder and bounced to the floor. Aedan blinked at the object, seeing the wooden slats bound together by an iron ring, but not really recognizing it for what it was. The door closed, the rectangle of light disappeared and he was alone once more. His dream still fresh in his mind, Aedan mumbled, "Luke."

He had had that dream, and another, the one where Luke did not survive the joining, over and over throughout the last two and a half years. But this time he still felt raw, wakefulness had not banished the full horror of what he had done to the tainted man, or the loss of his boy.

Aedan attempted to sit up and groaned as the action moved his broken ribs. He gasped through the pain, breathing shallowly through his mouth and then shuffled forward in the darkness, his hands waving about as he searched for the bucket. He located it finally and tried to lift it over his face, seeking any last drops of moisture that might be clinging to the inside. Water trickled over his tongue, not much, and Aedan licked at the rim of the bucket, seeking every last drop. The bucket slipped and caught his bruised cheek and Aedan quickly flung it from his face before it could touch his nose.

Then he gingerly felt his face. Touching his cheeks first with both hands, his fingers crept forward until he encountered his nose. He hissed and would have gritted his teeth if he could have, but the action would only have aggravated his face at the moment. Oddly, and he had experienced this before, his nose didn't feel as bad to his fingers as it did upon his face. The swelling was minor and a casual inspection revealed that the bone had probably been nudged apart rather than smashed. Bastion had delivered a precise and practiced blow. Whether the man had done it this way out of kindness or professional pride mattered little. But Aedan took a small amount of comfort from the fact that once the swelling receded fully, he would be able to breathe.

He remembered that Leliana had been with him. "Leli," he said softly, knowing she was gone. He imagined he could still feel the warmth of against his side and he pressed his hand gently over his ribs, trying to recapture her presence. He hoped she was safe, he hoped she would find a way out.

His body was so dehydrated he doubted he would need the bucket, but he crawled awkwardly around until he found it anyway and then set it beside himself. He couldn't say why he needed it close, perhaps just the idea of having something to hold comforted. Maybe he could use it as a weapon? It felt sturdy and heavy in his hands.

Aedan hovered on the edge of sleep when the door opened again. Flinging open his eyes he sat up and tried to appear alert, hopeful another bucket of water might appear. Instead Bastion greeted him with a cheerful, "Hallo, Sunshine!" and sidled along the wall towards the coiled chains. He fiddled with the device.

Not being able to help the shudder that passed through him in anticipation of more broken bones, Aedan instinctively leaned forward and braced against the expected pull. It would do no good. He had no idea how long he had been in here, but the light-headedness he felt could not be attributed simply to pain. Hunger, dull but still there, gnawed at him and thirst tugged. Despite his sleep, fatigue weighed upon him. To his surprise, Bastion walked past the winch and to the rings on the wall. Aedan craned his neck over his shoulder and watched as Bastion began to pull the chains backwards. Did he mean to free him?

Hope rose inside his chest and Aedan leaned on the upturned bucket and gathered his legs beneath him, preparing to stand.

"Do you still have some fight left, my friend?"

Aedan did not bother to answer; he just concentrated on standing, a delicate exercise with his feet still in the cuffs. He pulled the bucked up with him, cradling it his hands. Bastion had freed the chains from the rings and he began feed them through the opposite side, muttering under his breath. What was he doing? Aedan could not figure it out. Why were the chains being rearranged? He shuffled forward and Bastion turned and eyed him a moment before returning his attention to his task.

"What are you doing?" Aedan asked, surprised by the sound of his voice. It hurt to talk. His breath rasped against his dry throat and moving his mouth sent twinges of pain through his nose.

"I am turning you around!" Bastion announced before resuming his task.

Aedan growled low in his throat as his old friends, fury and rage, stirred. He could not, would not, submit without a fight. Tightening his hold on the bucket, Aedan swung it out and threw it at Bastion. The bucket collided with the jailor's head, distracting him long enough for Aedan to throw himself forward as well. Lifting his arms, and turning his shoulder, Aedan rammed his jailor with his good side, the side without broken ribs. The impact jarred and his body cried out, the bruises the cuts, the broken ribs, even his nose protested the movement. Bastion hit the wall. Aedan cracked his elbow back across the jailor's face and then with a grunt, a low, guttural roar, he pulled the chain from the floor and flicked it as hard as he could in the direction of the other man. The links trailed sluggishly across the ground at first and then the momentum caught them and the chain whipped up and across, catching Bastion over the shoulder and ear. Aedan was rewarded with a cry of surprise, but he didn't stop his assault. He knew if he did not best this man, he would pay dearly for the effort.

Risking his ribs and nose, Aedan ducked his head and rammed Bastion again, attempting to throw him once more against the wall, counting on the solid surface to have more impact than his weakened body. He could barely walk, he could not run, he had to stay close and use the weight of his entire body. He dragged against the weight of the chains, trying to pull them forward to use as a weapon again.

The jailor had recovered from his surprise, however, and fought back. A balled up fist drove into Aedan's gut, missing his ribs, but knocking the air from his lungs. Aedan drew back his hand and drove his fist forward, between Bastion's legs. He winced as his bare knuckles connected only with stiff, hardened leather.

Bastion uttered a harsh laugh. "You think you are the first to try that, Sunshine?"

The jailor shoved his shoulder back and then a knee connected with his groin and Aedan cried out as he jolted forward in a protective gesture. The black spots returned, clouding his vision, darkening the dim room even further. If he had anything in his stomach that could have roiled or risen, it would have, but he was empty.

"That is how it is done." Bastion taunted.

An elbow struck between Aedan's shoulder blades and he shoved himself into the other man, trying to direct all of his pain into his rage. He would lose this fight, he knew it now, but he could not pull himself back, could not admit defeat. He hit Bastion with his shoulder and his head and pushed with all his strength, determined to knock the man from his feet. His body screamed at him, all his wounds combining into a single hurt that he focused and pointed at his foe. He swung with his fists, he pulled at the chains, he attempted to shuffle and hop forward with his feet.

Bastion simply jumped backwards and without the other man's body to support him, Aedan fell. He tried to grab at the jailor, partly as reflexive gesture and partly in vain attempt to take Bastion to the floor with him. His hand grappled with the man's shirt, but he couldn't make his fingers close. His head connected with the bucket and light flared before his vision narrowed further. He hit the floor, stunned.

As Aedan tried to reconnect with his body, a clanking sounded in the background, and then he started to move across the floor. Bastion had started raising him up the wall again. Aedan bucked and tried to roll over, but nothing worked properly, his thoughts collided and ran apart, he felt senseless. The fury and rage took over and he yelled and cursed and bucked against the floor as he slid along it and into and up the wall. Time warped and Aedan knew he was dangerously close to a berserk fit.

"Philippe," he whispered, "Help me!" Where was his rock, his backbone?

He returned when the whip licked across his back. The brutally sharp sting brought him instantly back from the edge with a garbled yell. This was a pain he'd never experienced. He'd broken bones before and he'd received wounds from various weapons, crushing bruises, nicks and cuts. This was different. The pain radiated across his skin like fire without touching the bones or organs beneath. He could feel his flesh parting. The time it took Bastion to swing the whip seemed to drag out into long minutes as his whole body tensed and waited for it to strike again, and the sound, Maker, the sound. He would hear it in his nightmares forever.

The rage tried to build within him again, the fury burned and his head throbbed with it until he was tempted to whack his skull against the wall, but he ground his teeth together and endured the punishment until it was done, knowing he'd only damage himself further. Aedan had just reached the limit of what he could endure, the very edge of his control again, when Bastion finally dropped the cruel instrument and moved to the chains once more.

Aedan hit the ground with a thud and yelled aloud as he instinctively curled into himself, stretching the tortured skin of his back.

Bastion left silently, no taunts, no chuckles. He simply closed the door, cutting off all light once more.

Aedan could not clear his mind enough to think at first. He merely lay in a red haze, his breathing panted and shallow, interrupted by hisses as shivers traveled through him. His first thought when his mind was able, was of Leliana. This had happened to her. She had described it to him and he'd thought he understood. Now he knew. Next he tried to figure out what it meant. Why had he been whipped instead of subjected to more broken bones? He couldn't make sense of it, pain or no, and he realised that he likely never would. They had been captured by a mad woman. He could only hope his punishment meant Leliana had fought back.

The oblivion he craved refused to claim him. He hurt too much. The slightest movement hurt his back, his head, his nose, his… Aedan stopped cataloguing his injuries. He had lost count. He tried praying and it helped for a while. When he lost track of the words he let his mind range where it wanted to. He thought about Luke and his heart swelled with pride at the image his mind conjured for him of the young man, the boy he loved as a son, dressed in his armour and facing him across the yard, swords raised and a grin on his face. Alistair popped into his head next. His brother. He saw Alistair on his wedding day as they had talked of love and marriage as a gift from the Maker. He well remembered the look of wonder on his friend's face, the light of true happiness in his hazel eyes.

Fergus sailed into his mind. Not as a man, but as a boy, his older brother. Fergus had taught him how to use a shield. Aedan had never been that adept at it, preferring the feel of a hilt in both hands. But Fergus had always been a patient and good brother, had always looked out for him. His parents visited and Aedan's breath caught. It had been nearly six years since he had lost them. Pain edged through his thoughts and Aedan pushed his parent's faces away and reached for Leliana instead.

He pictured her with Grace in her lap, the pair of them facing the mirror set at Leliana's dressing table. Leliana tied ribbons in Grace's hair as the little girl made faces in the mirror, causing his wife to laugh. Grace's high giggles soon followed and Leliana had wrapped her arms about the girl and kissed her daughter's blonde curls.

Finally, Aedan called to mind Rory, his son, his blood. What he felt for Rory couldn't be described in words. To look at that serious little face and see himself but for Leliana's eyes often took his breath away. He called all of his children gifts, but Rory had always truly felt like one. Remorse rose inside him as he remembered how often he had been away and how much he had missed. That his son might grow up without him, either because he died here, or continued to spend his life underground there, filled Aedan with a despair so profound that for a moment he felt none of his injuries, only a fist closing about his heart.

He fell asleep imagining he had his boy wrapped in his arms and Rory joined him in his dreams.

Aedan had gone to Denerim for Rory's third birthday. Leliana and Brenna had organized a party in the garden at the palace hoping the weather would hold, and it had. The day had been cool, but clear, and warmth still radiated from the late fall sunshine.

Alistair gave the children piggyback rides, as he always did on special occasions, and Brenna and Leliana played their harps together, Brenna keeping time with the more simple notes as Leliana's tune wove in and out, the highlights and lowlights, her harp singing like a voice. Teagan danced with Grace, the tall Arl bending down to take the little hands, his face gentle and kind.

Wulff reclined against a tree, napping on and off, his face lined with the grief of losing his wife. But he had been there, not in his rooms, and when the children climbed into his lap he had smiled warmly at them and hugged them each in turn.

Oghren had been Rory and Grace's next target and he good naturedly let them both inspect his braided beard as usual, even producing coins he'd hidden in twists of hair for their amusement. Little Aedan toddled about on impossibly swift legs as Felsi gave chase. Philippe and Luke played with a kite, trying unsuccessfully to launch it into the clear blue sky while bemoaning the lack of wind.

Aedan had played with and visited with everyone at the party, but in his dream he sat in the middle of the picnic rug and simply watched as everything went on around him. He turned his head this way and that and his face relaxed into an easy smile as he watched the people he loved enjoy themselves. He felt their happiness and joy and it slipped inside him and eased the curious clenching about his heart. He breathed deeply, inhaling the scent of the grass, the women's mingled perfume, the flowers and trees, the lingering aroma of the picnic food, the slowly warming wine. Closing his eyes, he raised his face towards the sky and felt the warmth of the sun on his skin.

A hand tugged at his and he looked over to see Rory standing before him, his cerulean blue eyes sparkling with excitement. "Daddy, we have to get the cake now!"

Aedan gathered his son into his arms and hugged him tightly, even against the squirms and protests. He kissed his cheeks and forehead. Finally Rory insisted they go get the cake together and Aedan let him go and struggled to his feet. He felt dizzy, weak, and thought he might have stood up too quickly. No one at the party seemed to notice anything wrong, they continued making merry around him.

Rory took his hand once more. "Come, Daddy!" He led him off the blanket and out of the circle of family.

Aedan couldn't move his legs, his feet seemed joined together. Rory tugged and he thought he might fall, and then he took a step and it worked and he found himself able to walk and follow his son. The little boy led him across the lawn towards the hedge maze. Aedan frowned.

"Rory, the kitchen is the other way."

"The cake is in here," Rory insisted and tugged him towards the entrance.

Aedan followed his son into the maze, a bemused expression on his face. They walked quietly and without words and as they made their way deeper into the maze the hedges seemed to grow taller, blocking the light and the warmth of the sun. A shiver traveled lightly across his shoulders and it seemed as if it pulled painfully at the skin on his back. Aedan hissed and stopped to find out why and Rory pulled him forward.

"We're nearly there, Daddy. He's waiting."

He? "The cake is a he?"

They reached the centre of the maze and another boy stood there waiting for him. Aedan gasped as he saw his face again, only this time without his wife's eyes. His own cool blue gaze looked out from under dark brows. Rory skipped forward to stand at the boy's side and Aedan glanced from one to the other, taking in the similarities and differences. They were both him, and yet they both were not. They were his sons. They were brothers, both with dark hair and blue eyes.

Rory said, "I brought him, Cian."

Cian smiled at his brother and then looked up. "Hello Aedan."

"Will you help him now?" Rory asked.

Help him? Why did he need help?

Cian nodded. "Of course I will, Rory, he's my father too."

Rory looked perplexed for a moment and then simply shrugged. He looked up and Aedan shook his head as he continued to gaze from one boy to the other, his thoughts beginning to muddy. A flare of pain licked across his back again and he winced and tried to turn his head, to see what stood behind him. A dull throb reached down the centre of his face and his breath hissed softly. Both of his hands were captured then and he looked down to see each held by a different boy.

"Why do I need help?" he asked.

"I will tell mother to come find you," Cian answered.

Aedan looked about the centre of the maze and then cast his eyes upward over the tops of the hedges. He saw the familiar walls and windows that overlooked the palace garden. "I am not lost."

Cian shook his head sadly. "But you are, Aedan. Do not worry, Rory and I will stay with you."


	22. Rocks Fall

Rocks Fall

Though they had won the battle, Alistair took little comfort in their victory. Men slumbered about him, many snoring, some cleaning their weapons, a few talking in hushed tones, two having their injuries tended by Anders. The mage looked up and met his eyes and Alistair saw the knowledge he possessed reflected and he offered his fellow Warden a brief nod.

Anders picked his way forward and dropped to his side and Alistair murmured quietly, "You feel it?"

"The taint? Yes. It has barely lessened despite our impressive collection of trophies."

"Is Luke alright?"

The mage nodded. "He is sleeping, as is Jared."

"We'll take our turn when they wake." Alistair hoped that would be soon. His arms felt like lead and he didn't think he could stand even if an ogre were to come lumbering around the corner. The battle had been long and bloody. Though having a mage and another Warden had helped turn the tide, they had lost another soldier. No healer, no matter how talented, could reattach a severed head. Alistair winced and closed his eyes over the memory, only to see the scene replay itself in his mind, the arc of blood, one of those odd lulls in the noise of battle as the head subsided from the neck and toppled to the ground. Oghren had successfully avenged his man, his sturdy legs tracking up the hurlock as he literally ran up its torso and bore it to the ground, a swing of his mighty axe finishing the job.

At least this time they would be able to tend the body of their fallen comrade instead of having to leave it to the mercy of the darkspawn. Oghren had sent two soldiers back to the fort with news of their victory and they had carried their brother between them.

Though he trained as often as possible, swordplay had nearly become a game to Alistair, one he enjoyed despite the memories of the Blight. Now he wished he'd trained harder and wondered if he'd lost his edge after five years on the throne. That he was alive and unwounded he attributed to the discipline of Oghren's men.

Anders had fallen quiet beside him and so with a heavy sigh, Alistair further indulged his introspective mood and thought of Brenna. He trusted the castle guard and staff, but so far as he knew, the mysterious peddler still wandered the streets of Denerim spreading the tainted plague by way of the twisted amulets. He shuddered at the thought one might come into the possession of one of their servants or maids. Realising he would only torture himself with that line of thought Alistair cast his weary mind towards politics instead.

He entertained the rather uncharitable thought that with Vaughn dead and Ceorlic fleeing back to Lowlands the dissidents had been disbanded. Esmerelle was hardly likely to visit Denerim until all traces of the plague had been eradicated. This did little to ease his mind, however, the reasons they objected to his rule still remained. The nobility often followed the political tide. If his efforts down here were not successful, fingers might start pointing out some of his other failures. Alistair hung his head and sighed again, he shouldn't be thinking about this now, he was too tired.

Zevran and Luke approached, Jared shuffling along behind them and Alistair looked up to greet them warmly. Anders did not stir. Alistair left the mage to his sleep; he had likely expended too much mana during the battle and would need longer than the rest of them to recover. The Wardens and rogue settled themselves beside him, all of them looking up as Oghren stumped over, his gravelly voice pitched low. "Haven't started the meetin' without me have ya?"

The corners of mouths lifted slightly as they made a space for the dwarf.

Alistair looked from man to man realised they all waited for him to speak. Somehow, he had been elected leader of this expedition. He shook his head beneath their scrutiny in an attempt to refuse the mantle. Being King was enough. They waited in silence. Shouldering his burden, Alistair asked the question foremost in his mind.

"Why do they lurk down here when the way to the fort is open?"

Zevran answered. "They opened the door for us and now they tempt us into their lair."

A check of each man's expression revealed they had all come to the same conclusion. What awaited them around the next bend?

"The question is," one of the questions, anyway, "do we follow?"

Oghren responded. "If we fought men I'd say no. When did the darkspawn start thinkin' and the like?"

"And there you have it, my friend," Zevran put in. "As we are being led, so are they."

A leader. The darkspawn were being led. An involuntary shudder rippled down Alistair's back and he shifted against the wall, trying to ease his shoulders within the confines of his armour. He'd forgotten what it was like to fight, walk, stand, sit, eat and sleep in his armour. A sudden urge to take it all off, to bathe and find a comfortable bed swept through him and Alistair shook his head to clear it. He was tired. He called for suggestions.

Jared spoke up, his tone musing and thoughtful. "As Oghren says, the sound strategy would be to fortify a position and encourage the enemy to feed itself to us, either in parties or as a horde. But the darkspawn have often defied strategy, usually because they are mindless. My instinct tells me to go after them." He favoured Alistair with a look that might be described as cheeky in other circumstances. "Unless you like the idea of a darkspawn horde dwelling beneath the city."

Shuffles and half smiles passed around the group.

Alistair nodded and glanced about to see if anyone else had anything to add.

"We have expectation on our side and we have me," Zevran added with a trace of his usual cockiness. "I will scout ahead; see if I cannot foil their _cunning_ plan." His emphasis on the word cunning clearly indicated his derision.

"Alright, if you haven't rested, do so now. We'll move out after I've had my beauty sleep."

Another chuckle rippled through the group and they dispersed, giving him the space he needed to loosen his armour and recline against the wall.

##

The darkspawn led them forward with the eagerness of a child who, while insisting you chase them, begged to be caught. They did catch the first genlock scouts and killed them outright, knowing the darkspawn would send more. After traversing the corridors for about an hour they finally came to the end. The entire party stopped in awe of the sight: one of the giant locked devices that marked an entrance to the deep roads. It remained closed, locked and in good repair.

"By the stone," Oghren breathed. He did need to continue his train of thought. Alistair felt fairly sure they were all thinking the same thing: Aedan had been right.

By his estimation they had walked in a southerly direction for about ten miles. They had probably covered closer to twenty miles in actual steps, but the corridors had switched back and forth somewhat, only the longer sections maintaining a southerly heading.

The soldiers milled about in the corridor for a few minutes, confounded by the dead end. Zevran carefully inspected the door, the locking mechanism, the wall and the floors. "The darkspawn did not come through this door," he reported.

Alistair raised a brow. He had no reason to doubt the rogue's assessment, but he wanted an explanation. Zevran pointed out various signs, the dust of the floor, on the locks and the top of the door itself, and then stated the obvious. "And the locking mechanism is on this side."

"The blighters are getting' in here some other way then."

They turned around and retraced their steps for fifteen minutes to the last junction. Zevran had scouted both corridors and had reported that the first opened out into a single chamber that had appeared to be blocked by a cave-in. It was time to check it again. Rubble spilled forth from the door to the room and indeed seemed to fill almost all of the space within, almost. A dark space hid in the shadows of the far corner, large enough to allow two men to pass side by side. A causal inspection would not have revealed it as a tunnel, merely a shadow amongst the rubble that mostly filled the room. Zevran offered and apologetic shrug.

Alistair patted the rogue's shoulder. "We were looking for darkspawn, not shadows."

Alistair stepped towards the gap and instantly recoiled as an almost tangible wave of taint rolled through from the dark recesses of the shadowed space. He nearly gagged. The taint was so strong he imagined he could smell it. Turning he managed to utter, "Ugh, they are there."

He saw the other Wardens could feel it too.

The entire army clambered through the gap by twos and they assembled on the other side. Recognition flooded Alistair. They were in the Deep Roads. Though the walls were rough hewn and crumbled, one of the side passages that traversed between the roads themselves, he could taste the dry dust on the air, feel the heat of the earth below his feet and a breeze washed over his face. They were close to a ventilation shaft, which meant they were close to one of the actual roads. Glancing in both directions, Alistair indicated the direction of the draft and they moved forward.

Oghren took the lead and the army. Alistair and Jared followed Oghren and Peter led their remaining seventeen soldiers. Anders moved within a circle of men and while he occasionally protested about his babysitters, he did not move from their circle, and Luke hovered near the mage. Zevran did what Zevran does.

They reached the road proper and spilled out into it, blinking as their torches caught the yellow stone of the wall, cut into regular and geometric lines. A pool of light played across the floor ahead and all moved forward as one to take deep breaths of relatively fresh air and squint into the chimney trying to guess where it came out, many just wanting a glimpse of the sky.

Alistair had been looking up from within a knot of men, his head craned back on his neck, when the earth moved. The tremble beneath them had been an almost constant companion as they had descended from the fort, but now the floor bucked in a huge and violent wave, throwing them all from their feet. Alistair hit the wall and slid down it stunned and only then realised his ears were ringing and that a loud sound had preceded the quake, an awful cacophony of explosive noise and tearing and falling rock.

Shaking his head, Alistair tried to clear his ears and realised his vision had become obscured by dust and smoke. As his hearing returned he heard moans and yells, cries of pain and the continued rumble of the rock around them. His shoulder hurt where he had hit the wall and he felt dizzy and breathless as he coughed and fought against the dust coating his throat. Grit crunched between his teeth and edged his eyes and when he removed his helm he found blood.

Someone crawled towards him through the haze of dust, the aftershocks and trembles slowing their progress. So much silt and dirt covered the already gory armour that Alistair had no clue to their identity until Peter removed his helm.

"Your majesty?"

"Peter," his voice rasped against the dust and Alistair's tongue felt thick. Shaking his head again to try and dispel the dizziness he noticed the trickle of blood creeping down his face, flecks of it flying away, some tickling over his cheek toward his mouth. He pulled off a gauntlet and touching his head found a tender swelling behind split skin where he must have collided with his helm as he hit the wall.

He tried to stand and the world spun crazily about him. Even without having hit his head he might have had a hard time finding footing amongst the rubble that lay strewn about the twisted and buckled floor. A wave of nausea rose and it took Alistair a moment to realise it was not as a result of his head wound. Darkspawn approached.

"They're coming," he hissed and he stooped to grab his helm, missing it on his first attempt, grasping it on his second and having to lean against the wall for support. Next he tried to draw his sword, equip his shield. Fear rippled through him and his hands trembled and his legs shook. He realised he'd forgotten his gauntlet and he panicked as he searched the floor for it. Holy Maker, for the first he wondered if this might be their last battle.

All around him men rose from the rubble, pulling themselves to their feet, pulling out swords, shields and bows, settling helms, setting stances. Alistair took comfort from the number that rose and appeared ready to fight. He could identify no one until Oghren's shorter stature rose across the hallway and his heart lifted at the sight of one of his friends. Everyone's armour had been coated with dust and they all looked alike but for choice of weapons. He thought he glimpsed Warden armour to his left and wondered fervently if it were Luke or Jared. The huge two handed sword confirmed it was Jared. He had to push aside all thoughts of Luke, Anders, and the rest of his men until the end of this battle.

The darkspawn fell upon them like a dark wave, barbed arrows flying from the dusky darkness, plinking off armour and clattering to the floor. Then the dark skinned creatures themselves, running towards them with axes and swords raised. The sound of the battle hurt Alistair's ears, they still rang from the explosion, and a curious numbness followed the noise, as if a sponge filled each ear. Shaking his head a final time, Alistair raised his shield and engaged.

He bashed aside a genlock and yelled as his bruised shoulder protested the impact. Following up with a vicious swing of his sword, Alistair vented his fear and anger against the creature and cast it aside with a deep gash parting its armour from shoulder to hip. He stepped on its neck and bore down with all his weight, feeling the crunch before he moved on. Bash, thrust, parry, bash, bash, bash. The rhythm began again and Alistair stumbled from foe to foe, putting all of his resolve into his weapon, his shield and his stance. He would not die down here; he would not lose this fight.

Around him the sound of battle rang from the walls, echoes both louder and fainter than in the corridor due to the higher ceiling of the road and the heavily dusted air. Alistair tripped over a body and looked down to see grimy but perfectly matched armour below him. One of his men. Pushing himself to his feet he pressed on, picking another target, raising his shield and swinging his sword.

A flash of light and a loud rumble accompanied a wave of heat that rolled out of the darkness ahead. The fireball evaporated, flames licking and scorching the stone, and crisped armour and weapons clattered to the ground. Anders was alive and able to cast. Relief dragged at Alistair's shoulders a moment before he squared his posture and struck at the next darkspawn in his path, ignoring the throbbing pain in his shoulder, the pounding in his head and the thick feeling in his ears. Bash, bash, bash, sweep and thrust. He stepped on another body and yanked his sword out of the hardened leather breastplate and raised his shield to block the swing of an axe.

Finally the horde thinned, their targets became harder to pick out and the signs of battle died away, leaving only a muffled echo ringing in Alistair's ears. A wave of rejuvenation tickled beneath his skin and Alistair dropped to his knees, his sword falling to the ground, the weight of his shield pulling him forward.

The dust stirred beside him and Zevran materialized. "Alistair, Thank the Maker."

Alistair looked up at the elven face and knew the grey tone to Zevran's skin was not all due to the dust and grim. The rogue looked aggrieved and worried. "Zev," he whispered. "Where is Luke?"

Zevran shook his head. "I have not seen him."

Fear gripped him again and his mind refused to entertain the thought they might have lost their youngest Warden.

Zevran's quiet voice sounded again, his tone both anxious and resigned. "Three of the darkspawn scouts have retreated, shall I follow?"

"If you would, the usual distance." In other words, follow them far enough to ensure they are fleeing and not summoning another horde. Alistair let his head fall forward again. As the adrenaline left his system aches and pains began to blossom all over his body and the lightheaded feeling had returned. And he was hungry. He cursed his Warden appetite. But first he had to see to his men, he had to find Luke.

Peter stepped to his side and helped him to his feet. "Your majesty, this way."

They had cleared an area beyond the buckled floor, on the other side of the ventilation shaft. Alistair did not relish the idea of them resting in the open, but until they had tended the wounded and counted the dead, yes, he knew there would be more than one, they had little choice. They had to try and organize the chaos.

One by one the soldiers gathered, shadows lurching out of darkness. Jared stumbled forward, heavily favouring his left leg, Oghren cursed his way into view, Anders seemed to float dreamily over the rubble. One of the archers tripped on the buckled ground and his bow flew into the makeshift camp, whacking another soldier in the head. Eleven soldiers emerged from the darkness, out of seventeen. Still no Luke. Alistair couldn't hold himself back any longer. Drawing himself to his feet, despite the protests of Peter, he stumbled back into the wreckage.

"Luke!"

His voice echoed oddly off the twisted floor and he noted the tunnel they had emerged from had collapsed. The flickering torchlight caught a glint of metal in the fallen rock and Alistair's heart lurched. He went forward and rubbed at the metal, not sure if he should feel so relieved when he discovered that it was indeed armour, but Ferelden armour, not Warden armour. He took a moment to whisper a prayer for the poor soldier buried in the rock fall, only to be interrupted by Oghren's deep voice. "Poor sod."

"Oghren, have you seen Luke?"

"No, but if we don't find him, we may as well stay down here forever, 'cause I ain't gonna be the one to tell the Warden we lost his son."

Alistair smirked at the dwarf's attempt at humour. He knew Oghren meant to reassure, but the words chilled none-the-less. A scuffling came from behind the rock and he called out. "Luke?"

A voice called back, he could not identify it. Hope flared and Alistair started pulling at the rocks, but Oghren stayed his hand.

"I heard something, help me dig!"

"I will, Alistair, but if you dig from down there, the whole lot will tumble down upon ya."

They began at the top, forming a chain of men to carry the larger boulders away while the smaller rubble was allowed to gather about their feet. Peter tried to pull him away from the task twice before Alistair turned on the captain, and summoning all of his patience and resolve, calling on his templar techniques, said in the most even tone possible, "Peter, please go tend the men at camp."

The captain ducked his head and turned on his heel. Alistair made a note to try and remember to apologise later. He had to keep on an even keel. A disaster such as this would affect the moral of his men and his officers and he needed to remember to not only treat them fairly, but allow them to treat him as a King. For the first time in a while Alistair wished he was simply a Warden again.

As soon as they had cleared a small space at the top of the cave in, a head popped through. Alistair nearly cried out with relief as he recognised Luke's face. "Luke," he said hoarsely. "Are you well?"

The young man's face was smeared with dust, grime, gore and blood, but his eyes shone brightly and he nodded instantly in response. "Alistair. Thank the Maker! I have a badly wounded man back here," his voice dropped, "and another is buried beneath all this rock. I think he's dead."

The buried armour. Alistair nodded soberly. "Sit tight Luke, stay with the soldier, we're digging you out."

Luke nodded and for an instant his brave face slipped. Alistair tore off his gauntlet and thrusting his hand through the hole, stroked the young man's cheek.

Luke's hand came up to grip his. "Thank you," he whispered.


	23. Alone

Alone

When the floor had come up to meet him Luke had felt a curious weightlessness for several seconds before the world smacked him across the chest, his armour biting into his skin at his shoulders, hips and knees. His helm adequately braced his head, though the sting of the impact deafened one ear and bruised his cheek. His other ear rang in a curious, billowing way, echoes and waves of sound nudging at the eardrum and Luke lay on the bucking floor, stunned, breathless and soundless for several moments, unable to comprehend what had happened.

Sound slowly returned as his vision became obscured with rising dust and silt. He could hear muffled voices and a loud moaning. He could see little but darkness before him, shadows flicking across a tumbled rock surface, lighting a silvered boot that twitched before the torch behind him gutted and died. Blackness swallowed the world. Luke pushed himself to his hands and knees and felt forward until he grasped the armoured boot, the surface slippery with dust. He could feel the twitch of a leg within the boot and he tugged on it to no avail. The owner of the boot, the leg, had been caught beneath a fall of rock and as he held it the boot, the leg, stopped moving and fell still.

Luke hastily dropped his hands, not wanting to acknowledge the truth of why that leg had stopped moving. Feeling for his helm in the darkness he slipped it from his head and took in a great lungful of dust laden air. He coughed and the dragging feeling hurt his bruised chest beneath the breast plate of his armour. Though tempted to remove his armour and test for broken bones, Luke left it in place. He could feel the taint rising like a wave and he could hear… moaning, close by. He couldn't make his helm fit properly again in the darkness and so he cast it aside, fearfully, the swell of taint causing a panic to swirl and rise within his gut. Crawling forward on his hands and knees, Luke located the source of the moan, a man, a soldier, laying a short distance away on the floor.

He patted his way gently about until he found a gauntlet and then, removing it and his own, he gripped the fingers in the dark and spoke.

"Who are you? It's Luke. Are you hurt?" His voice scraped across his dry throat hoarsely and his words sounded thick and odd to his punished ears.

"Mason, Ser." The soldier stopped, gasped and moaned before continuing. "I think," he hissed, "My back is broke, I can't move my legs and my head…" his voice trailed off into another tightly wound groan of pain.

The wave of taint broke over him them and Luke cried out with it. But he heard nothing but his own cry echoing off the walls of the blackened tunnel and then, muffled, distant, separated by the fall of rock, he heard the sounds of battle. Then he understood. He, Mason and the owner of the boot had been cut off from the rest of the party. They had been flung back into the tunnel and sealed behind the collapsing ceiling. Fear and relief fought for dominance. Fear of the dark hole he sat in, of the wounds the soldier had sustained, and for the outcome of the battle beyond the rock. Relief that he did not have to move, find his helm, join the fight. He wasn't sure if he could even stand.

Mason continued to moan softly and Luke let go of his hand to assist in removing his second gauntlet. The soldier's fingers clutched at his.

"Hold on, Mason, I'm just taking my other gauntlet off."

He took a hold of the man's hand again and with his free hand began to asses Mason's position. He quickly discovered that the man's hips rested over a boulder with his useless legs dangling below. The top of his torso almost felt as if it were in a crumpled heap behind the boulder, his head against the wall. Luke decided he was grateful for the lack of light. He did not want to see what had happened to this man. He gripped the fingers he held and tried not to shudder with the horror that swept through him.

"Are they fighting, Ser?"

"Luke, call me Luke. Yes, I think so. But we are behind a wall of rock. We're…" safe?

Luke glanced uselessly over his shoulder in the dark, at the cascade of fallen rock that stood between them and the rest of the party. The sound of battle held a certain pull, he felt the need to draw his blades and help out in the fight, but he had no idea how thickly the rocks had stacked themselves. He guessed he might not be able to dig through in time to join in and so appointed himself the double duty of staying at Mason's side and trying not to panic.

Mason's moans turned to whimpers and finally ebbed away to a hissing but steady breath. He had passed out. Luke sat back gratefully, untangling his fingers. He scrubbed at his face, feeling the blood and grime on his skin, touching tenderly at his bruised cheek. He was thirsty. He had no idea if Mason had been carrying one of the supply packs, but did not want to risk disturbing him in the dark. He felt for his own small canteen and drained the last few drops which seemed to just wash more dust down this throat. Resisting the urge to cough, Luke swallowed and slipped the canteen carefully back onto his belt, trying to keep his movements precise in the dark. Then he crawled forward, backward, around and finally in the direction of the wall.

He couldn't find the boot, his point of reference, and so he just moved toward the feel of the taint and the sound of battle, and pressed himself against the stone, his fingers grasping the edge of what felt like an impossibly large rock. He listened to the muffled clang of steel, the grunts and cries. He heard a fireball explode and grinned. Anders lived! But what of Alistair, Zevran, Oghren, and Jared? He stopped listing names and listened some more. It seemed he could feel the taint lessening and he hoped it meant the battle was being won. All finally fell silent but for the faint movement of men on the other side of the wall, the occasional ring of steel, a shout, and the odd sound of rock moving, the clatter of pebbles and hopefully imagined groan of the ceiling overhead.

"Hello!"

Luke tried calling out, but he heard no response. Fear began to creep in upon him again now that the sounds of battle had faded and the man behind him still slept. He felt alone and the darkness seemed to press in around him, heavy and scented with the taint and dust. He'd not stopped to think about the sudden upheaval of the corridor, but now he pondered it. Had the darkspawn led them into a trap? Had they actually used explosives? It appeared as if they had. Perhaps he should try and find the tunnel back to the corridor? Try and open the dwarven locking device? In the dark? Luke cursed softly. He had no torches. Maybe Mason had another? But a means to light it would be near impossible to find in the dark. Indecision and panic settled about his shoulders and Luke noticed that his head had started to truly pound as the numbness and deafness faded away. Then he heard the shout. Had that been his name?

"I'm here!" he called into the rock.

A few long moments passed where he heard nothing at all and then he heard a faint scraping followed by raised voices on the other side of the wall. He called tried to call again, but a coughing fit took him and afterwards his chest felt bruised and his head spun. Luke closed his eyes and rested his head against the rocks a moment, and then he worked his fingers about one of the stones and tried to pluck it free. He wedged it out and cast it aside, listening to it roll across the floor. He reached for another.

A gap finally appeared and a rush of air and light filtered through. Luke scrambled up the fallen rock and stuck his head into the circle of light. Alistair waited on the other side. Though he felt like weeping with joy, Luke reported on his situation first, mentioning the wounded man, the dead man.

"Sit tight Luke, stay with the soldier, we're digging you out."

Luke nodded and tried to maintain his composure. Alistair reached through the gap and touched his cheek and Luke couldn't stop himself from reaching up to clutch at the King's hand. "Thank you."

Luke continued to do what he could on his side of the wall, gripping rocks surrounding the hole with his fingers and casting them aside. They widened the hole almost to the point where he could climb through, without his armour, when suddenly the imagined groaning in the ceiling became real.

"By the stone, stop!" Oghren yelled.

The ceiling groaned again and Luke heard an odd creaking sound and then what could only be described as rending, a parting. Dust and small pebbles began to rustle down across the fallen rocks. Luke looked through the hole and met Alistair's eyes, both of their gazes wide with fright. The creaking subsided and Alistair's face seemed to darken, his expression hollowed.

"Luke…"

"I know." His thoughts raced. "A torch, can I have a torch, please?" Luke could imagine the roof caving in and being left alone in the dark, again.

A pair of torches were passed through and then a lit one hovered in the gap and Luke touched one of the torches to the glowing end before slipping back to light his 'hole'. The light fell over Mason and Luke crawled over to him and, putting the torch aside, felt for a pulse. Weak, erratic, but still there. A wave of rejuvenation rippled through him, and then a healing touch crept over his scalp briefly.

Hearing a murmur of voices behind him, the tone concerned, Luke crept back to the hole in the wall, feeling a little lighter, his head pounding less.

"Luke, can you move the soldier at all?" Anders asked.

"Mason, his name is Mason. No, his back is broken." A glance over his shoulder confirmed the distorted and crumpled position of the soldier.

Anders winced and turned to speak to someone on the other side of the wall. "I need to rest, and then I will try again."

A loud cracking sound preceded another series of creaks and groans and more pebbles and dust clattered down.

Alistair appeared. "Luke…"

Luke grimaced in thought and then looked up. "I'll go back to the Fort. I'll get some more soldiers and we'll open the locking device. Maybe the Wardens will have arrived.

Alistair regarded him thoughtfully for a time and Luke could see the king wrestling with his thoughts. Finally he nodded. "You can find your way?"

Maybe? "Yes," he stated firmly.

Alistair stuck his hand through the hole again and Luke gripped it.

"Maker watch over you, Luke."

"And you, Alistair."

Luke could feel the other man's eyes on him as he descended to the floor once more. He glanced at Mason and then knelt down and unhooked the canteen from the soldier's belt. He loosened the lid and set it within read of his hand and then he lit the second torch and left it just outside his reach. He did not want Mason to wake up into darkness and think he had died. Maker, the thought scared him. One torch would last him all the way back to the Fort, three hours of walking, if he did not get lost.

He got lost.

After reaching the end of a corridor and discovering a room filled with rubble, Luke realised he'd made a wrong turn. He knew which intersection he had navigated incorrectly and he turned to retrace his steps. Fatigue pulled at his limbs and his head had started to pound again and thirst toyed with him. Hunger seemed to sit like a tight ball in his gut. Luke could not remember a time, even after he'd been wounded by the tainted man, when he had felt so awful.

Stumbling over a fall of tumbled rock as he rounded a bend, Luke steadied himself against a wall and took a deep breath. Maker, he wanted to sit, lie down and rest, but he doggedly kept on. He had started to lose track of time in the corridors and couldn't quite decide if he'd been walking for two hours, or if he still had two more hours to walk. The thought of food, water, rest, perhaps even some healing magic He knew his chest was bruised beneath his armour and where the edges had cut into his skin had started to sting and ache. And he was lonely.

Luke had been in the company of other men and women nearly all his life. While, like most, he treasured the moments he got to himself on occasion, time to read a book in the library and or stretch out on his bed for a nap, Holy Andraste, a nap would be good about now, he otherwise found himself surrounded by either family or Wardens. Now, not only did he traverse these corridors with only some idea of where he should go, he walked alone.

When he reached the junction where he suspected he had made the wrong turn, Luke noticed his torch had begun to sputter and he frowned at it. He picked up his pace and rounding a corner, experienced a flash of recognition. Luke began to jog. The jarring motions hurt, but he grit his teeth and kept on, determined to make the fort before his torch gutted and died.

He did not.

Luke kept walking at first, remembering in his mind's eye the end of the corridor and the next bend. He collided gently with the expected wall and turned and ran his gauntlet along it, ready to move forward in such a fashion. Clamping down his panic, Luke followed his hand along the wall and around another corner, trying to match the unexpected turn with what he remembered. He did think he should have turned yet. When his boots hit something solid he bent down and felt around with his hands. He'd turned into a room and, removing his gauntlet, he discovered the usual cluster of fallen statues and discarded objects, crumbling furniture. He couldn't find the door.

Giving into his fear and panic for a moment, Luke sat where he was and tried to catch his breath. When had his heart started to pound and his breath to pant? Why was it so dark down here? Tiredness niggled at him and Luke felt his mind begin to wander. Now that the feel of the taint had lessened and a whimpering man and sounds of battle did not distract him, Luke remembered the last time he'd sat in the dark: the cellar at the farmhouse where he'd grown up.

He had gone down there, taking Brenda by the hand, to find food. They hid in the woods behind the house as their mother and uncle fought the darkspawn. They waited until all fell quiet before creeping back to the house and descending to the dim cellar. The door banged shut behind him, plunging them into darkness and Luke had stumbled about, trying to find the stairs again while his sister clutched his legs. Then they heard more footsteps walking around the house and they shrank down behind the barrels together, sure their time had come. When the men entered the cellar, the most awful sound he'd ever heard pierced the air, Shrieks melted from the darkness, and the sound of them had chilled his spine and nearly stopped his young heart. He recognised the men as Wardens as they defeated the vague monsters.

Luke remembered the disorientation and the fear as they had emerged from the cellar. Brenda had been near hysterical and while he felt the urge to protect her, to be strong for her, his own horror nearly defeated him. Aedan had introduced himself and he had railed against the Warden. Instead of thanking him for his life, he had sobbed and yelled: "Where were you this morning? Where were you?"

Where was Aedan now? Luke missed the man he now thought of as his father with a sudden intensity. He missed the quiet words, the steady presence and the fierce hugs. He missed Leliana. He missed Zevran. He'd only been alone down here for perhaps three hours and already he felt bereft. Guessing his fatigue pulled his mood down Luke tried to move on to happier thoughts. He tried to pull himself to his feet and find the door.

A flicker of light played over the corridor, illuminating the dark rectangle of the door and Luke warred with the desire to shrink back into the darkness and call out to the light. He drew his weapons as quietly as he could and listened. The light did not move for a time and then a cautious voice, a soft tone, an Antivan accent called out, "Luke?"

"Zev!" Luke ran through the door and nearly collided with the elf. Heedless of his weapons, the torch, he hugged Zevran and resisted the urge to sob against the leather armour. Stepping back, he cleared his throat and re-sheathed his blades, and tried for a smile, a somewhat bashful and crooked smile. "Being my shadow again?"

Zevran titled his head and replied, "I desired a walk, my friend. Perhaps it is a coincidence that our paths have crossed, yes?" Though his eyes glinted with humour in the soft light of the torch, Luke could see the depth of emotion beneath.

"Thank you," he said simply.

Zevran nodded. "Come, we are not far from the fort."

A huge weight lifted from Luke's shoulders as they walked together. His step felt buoyant once more, his heart light. He had so many people looking out for him; he had no idea why they regarded him as so precious. But while it sometimes felt suffocating, honestly, he wouldn't have it any other way. He belonged to these people and them to him.

They reached the fort less than half an hour later. The companionship and the torch lending familiarity to corridors that had previous looked strange and daunting. Luke called out as they approached, to let the guards know they were coming and as before they felt the points of twenty crossbow bolts and arrows pointed at them as they crawled through the final gap. A lieutenant ran to greet them and escorted the pair of them back to the dining room where Nicholas fussed over them, healing even the most minor wounds.

Dizziness descended and Luke succumbed to sleep, pulled under by the healing and the relief, before he even had the chance to eat. He did not dream. When he awoke, he found Zevran perched on the edge of his cot, looking much refreshed also. Automatically Luke reached for the taint, expecting to feel the steady but retreated presence beneath the fort. He couldn't feel it, the darkspawn had moved too far south, but he felt something and his eyes widened first in panic.

He glanced at Zevran and the elf smiled. "The Wardens are here, Luke."

The taint, he felt the taint in his brothers. Luke sagged with relief and then filled with energy and leapt from the cot. He saw them, clustered at one end of the dining room. Wyman turned and a broad smile lit the warrior's face.

"Luke, you're awake!" The Senior Warden gripped his shoulder and looked upon him fondly. "Why don't you give me a report, Warden?"


	24. Yellow

Yellow

Air and sound greeted Leliana's face, neck and ears as the heavy cowl fell away from her head. Nimble fingers fiddled behind her hair and the blindfold dropped from her eyes. She blinked a few times, allowing her eyes to adjust to the dimly lit room before her. A shuffle behind her indicated the elven woman had stepped back and Leliana cautiously turned to regard her escorts. The dark skinned rogue stood by the door and the elven woman paused a few steps behind her, a scowl marring her delicate features. Leliana narrowed her eyes at the woman, not exactly a threatening gesture, more an acknowledgement of their mutual dislike for one another.

After Marjolaine had left her room, the elven woman had entered and instructed her to lie on the bed so that her wrists might be secured. The venom in the rogue's tone had been clear and decisive, but she'd made no untoward or threatening gestures, her fear of her mistress obviously greater than her need for revenge. Leliana had been sorely tempted not to comply. She wanted to curl in upon herself, comfort herself, hide her tear stained face from view so that she could properly give into the sorrow that boiled within. A moment of silence had passed between the two women as they stared at one another; one daring defiance, the other fighting against compliance.

Leliana had laid down then and spread her arms so that her wrists met the bedposts. The elven woman secured them tightly and took the lantern with her when she left, plunging the windowless room into darkness. Then the tears came again. Leliana felt them spill over her cheeks, collecting in her ears and wetting her hair as she cried silently in the dark. She tugged at her wrists, the need to wrap her arms about herself almost overwhelming. Trapped, besides the binding of her arms, she felt hopelessly trapped. Marjolaine knew her, knew how her mind worked, knew her strengths and her weaknesses. Leliana thought she had changed, and she had, without, but perhaps not so much within. As she lay there she suddenly felt twenty three years old again, naïve and scared. That was how old she had been when she had discovered Marjolaine's secrets, when her carefully ordered world had begun to crack and crumble about her. This time Aedan would suffer for her mistakes. Despite the fact her husband's body would bear the brunt of the punishment, Leliana knew she would share the burden, always and forever.

Sleep had claimed her unexpectedly. One moment she had been lying against a wet pillow and the next she had been blinking her eyes open, her cheeks stiff with dried tears, her arms sore and numb across the bed, the elven woman hovering menacingly over her.

"Wake up, sleepy head. It is time for work." The woman had loosened her bonds once more and indicated a set of leathers and a bowl of porridge. "You have fifteen minutes."

Leliana ate first. She didn't feel hungry; she ate simply as a reflex action. Eat when you can, sleep when you can. Then she contemplated the dusky leather armour. The leggings and tunic provided were nearly black and the ash colour of the leather itself would absorb rather than reflect light. No metal glinted from joins and buckles, the rivets and fastenings blackened iron, filed to a dull sheen and allowed to tarnish slightly. Night armour, stealth armour, the leather supple enough to allow movement, only just stiff enough to deflect an unlucky arrow. These leathers would not stand up to combat, they were made for an assassin, a bard without an invitation. Leliana stripped off the rose coloured dress and donned the armour with a mingling of relief and apprehension. Marjolaine did not mean her to infiltrate the palace in plain sight then, though if she were caught she wondered how she would explain her presence.

The elven woman returned with her dark skinned companion and a cloak with a heavy cowl that she tossed at Leliana.

"Put this on."

Leliana did as instructed and then they blindfolded her. The journey from the house to her current location had seemed endless. The elven woman had taken every opportunity to allow a stumble, a misstep and the occasional brush with a wall. Leliana had heard the deep throated chuckle of her companion on occasion as they spun her about and guided her back and forth through silent streets. The chill of the air about her ankles told her night lay across the city and that three dark figures, one of them hooded, would not invite closer inspection. They would travel in relative anonymity to their destination, this room she now stood in.

"How is your head?" Leliana asked with a carefully arched brow. No longer in Marjolaine's house, within her presence, she felt her equilibrium return somewhat and decided to bait this woman as a small way to gain an upper hand in a situation that was otherwise beyond her control.

The elven woman merely smirked and lifted her chin, indicating the contents of the room. "Choose your tools."

Leliana turned back to the table before her. Laid out upon the scarred wooden surface were daggers, many of them. A moment of appreciation for the array swept through her even as fear tingled down her spine. Could she flick one of those shorter knives over her shoulder and catch the elven woman before the dark skinned man came at her? Did she dare? Could she kill them both? What would happen to Aedan if she failed? Closing her eyes a moment, Leliana sighed out a deeply held breath. She did not yet know enough; for all the time it had taken them to get to this location, she might be in the same house or across the street. Their circuitous route may have led them across town. She simply did not know.

Gazing at the daggers, Leliana focused upon them and considered her choice. She immediately discarded the longer, heavier blades. Combat weapons, too hard to conceal. One with a delicately twisted blade caught her eye, but she put it aside, the blade too long and too highly polished. The fancy blade called too much attention to itself. She perused the shorter knives and daggers and as she made her selection her stomach flipped and turned, nausea burned the back of her throat. Into her belt she slipped two matched blades, one on each hip. Medium weight with dull, red steel blades, they would be suitable for combat in the unlikely event she met a guard, and yet they would be light enough to throw if need be. She also selected a couple of the lighter, more flexible blades and slid them into the sheaths alongside her calves and slipped two throwing knives inside the cuffs at her wrists.

Stepping around the table, she moved toward a shelf laden with bottles and vials. Poisons and oils. Reading the labels, Leliana selected two heavy glass vials and slipped them into the specially made pouch at her belt, looped inside to hold them still, padded at the front to help protect the glass from a casual bump. She also took a couple of rags and two sets of thieves' tools, setting each set in a different place upon her person. Nearly every junior rogue had discovered the horror of a broken lock pick or confiscated tool. Never leave yourself short – always take two of everything. A voice spoke quietly in her head as she selected her tools, a blend of hers and Marjolaine's, an echo, a reminder of days gone past.

When Leliana stopped to think upon her purpose, panic swelled and her head threatened to lift from her shoulders, but when she contemplated the weapons, the spare armour, the poisons, she could retain her focus, arm herself for her task. She paused by the rack of swords, taking in the variety of blades with an interested glance before moving on to the bows.

Several types of bow hung from the far wall. Leliana debated taking a bow. She had rarely used one before leaving Orlais, the favoured weapon of a bard being one that kept them close to their target. But during the Blight she had discovered an affinity with ranged weapons. Aedan had asked if she could use a bow and handed one immediately, telling her to stay back in a fight if she could. She had been slightly offended at first, assuming he meant her to stay out of harm's way. But she discovered, in fact, he had a less subtle purpose – with three warriors in the face of their enemy, her range allowed her to pick off more distant targets and provide cover fire when necessary. She came to appreciate the distance, both mentally and physically, and over the course of the year practiced and polished all the techniques she had learned. She now considered the bow her favoured weapon.

Perhaps a bow might give her the distance she needed to perform this task? Leliana had no idea if she could use a bow to… she couldn't think of the word 'assassinate', she had to think of it as a task, a job. Could she use a bow to finish this job? Maybe. She selected a bow, moving past the crossbows and short bows to select a slender and graceful curve of ironbark, strapped it to her back and hefted a quiver of arrows.

As expected, surprise dominated the expressions of the other two rogues in the room. Leliana schooled her features into a look of professionalism, experience, letting her actions speak for her, making her movements deliberate. She knew what she was doing.

"I am ready." She was not ready; she would never be ready for this task, this job. Now that she had her tools, her thoughts tumbled over one another again and butterflies swirled within her gut. She needed to be moving, she needed a purpose again, before she gave in to the tremble behind her knees and sank to the floor of the armory.

The dark skinned man opened the door and moved down the long hall behind it. The elven woman stepped back, out of reach, and allowed Leliana to pass. She fell into step well behind her and they escorted her to the front of the building, out the door and down the three steps to a small courtyard. Leliana glanced up at the sky. Stars twinkled over head and a night breeze tickled her cheeks, her ankles, her wrists, cooled the back of her neck. She breathed deeply and picked out the constellations, her heart beating softly, firmly, as she remembered stargazing with Aedan at camp, at Gwaren.

The dark rogue pointed into the distance. "The palace is there."

Leliana followed the direction of his finger and saw the glow of grey stone, the graceful turrets that cornered the palace, lit against the dark sky. She nodded.

"You will return here when you are done."

Nodding again, Leliana took a step forward and the rogue leapt out of her way. They were afraid of her; either of doing her harm or having her harm them. They did not want to tangle with her; they balanced on the edge of their mistress's word. Leliana let herself out of the gate and into the lane that ran behind the buildings. She slipped into shadow and ran.

Her feet were soundless against the cobbles, the leather boots she wore light and flexible, suitable for running and climbing, the soles and uppers both made of slightly hardened leather. The feel of the air against her face and through her hair refreshed Leliana and a sense of freedom gripped her as she moved away from her jailors, her watchers. The urge to run faster, to flee, nearly took her breath. Her children's faces rose in her mind's eye, Rory, Grace, Luke. She could run to them now, she could almost feel her youngest son's sturdy little arms about her neck and Luke's shy kiss upon her cheek; hear Grace's high pitched squeals.

A sobbed breath tore from her lips and Leliana stopped running to lean against a wall. Her chest heaved and ached, her heart pounded and the sound beat like a drum behind her ears, making her temples throb. She whispered their names and then she thought of Aedan. She could never leave him behind. Never. He would ask her, encourage her, tell her to do it. He would beg her to save herself. Would he be angry with her for doing this? Would he understand? Uncertainty flooded her now and her breath caught, her ears ringing. Leliana clenched and unclenched her fists. She gulped in air, deep breaths that refused to move past the lump in her throat, left her head spinning dizzily.

"Aedan." Saying his name made it worse. Tears blurred her eyes now and Leliana blinked and breathed, un-tucked one of the rags from her pouch and wiped at her eyes. She took a final deep shuddering breath and reached for the chant. Realising she prepared to take a man's life, she faltered with and lost the words. Paul Le Trene also had a child, a daughter. Marie. Her world spun again.

"I cannot do this. Aedan, help me."

The trembling began again. Leliana had to move, she needed to move forward and stop thinking. The dizziness and shortness of breath accompanied her the entire way to the palace. She approached from the side, keeping to the shadows. She approached the smallest gate, the one manned by only one guard, and used the simplest form of distraction. Having left her bow within the shadow of the wall, she swept the cloak about her shoulders, letting it fall in front of her armour and approached the somnolent man, noting his plumpness, his lazy eyes. She assumed a look of helplessness and horror and used the genuine distress she felt to colour her words, counting on her tear stained cheeks to lend verity to her act.

"Ser, you must help! My son, they took my son!"

He snapped to attention, took in her face, her obviously panicked state and stepped forward to glance up and down the lane, his brow furrowing. A commotion sounded down the alley and Leliana's heart leapt. "There, quickly, help me!"

The guard took off and Leliana immediately reached back for her bow and slipped through the gate, finding the shadow of the wall. She kept the cloak about her shoulders until she had moved from tree to tree and reached the dark grey stone of the palace. There she bundled it and slipped it beneath a shrub. She may make it back for it, she may not. If she didn't, perhaps it might provide a valuable clue?

Leliana scaled the wall, her deft fingers and flexible boots moving soundlessly over the stone as she pulled herself from ledge to sill to pipe, making nearly impossible leaps, dangling from cornices and finally pulling herself onto the roof. She made her way slowly, noiselessly to the residential wing and located the set of windows she knew fronted the Le Trene apartment. The windows were darkened, which they would be, at night.

Leliana sat on the roof and gazed at the balcony that circled the outside wall. The roof bent at a ninety degree angle and she could see through the windows, many of which stood ajar to the late summer night. Silence floated from the open windows, quiet darkness. Leliana knew she would have to move over to that roof, slip down onto that balcony and go within to find Paul Le Trene.

But she did not move. Gravity weighed upon her and she felt heavy against the slate tiles as she sat there contemplating the apartment. His daughter likely slept there, right now. Perhaps he did also, though the evening had not yet advanced far. She could hear music elsewhere in the palace and occasionally a voice called out into the night air, a footstep clattered against one of the stone paths in the courtyards below. Leliana turned her eyes from the balcony and looked across at the guest wing instead. She saw her and Aedan's balcony, the smaller side one that opened out from the bedroom. Again, the windows were darkened, and this time they all stood closed. The lump had returned to her throat and before she could stop herself she had climbed to her feet and run along the sloped roof until she paused just above that small balcony. She dropped down, listened at the glass, pulled out her picks and let herself in.

The scent of Andraste's Grace caught her and Leliana swayed on her feet and had to steady herself against the window frame. She crossed to the bed and stared at the perfect straightness of the quilt and pillows. Pulling out the drawers of the dresser she noted the missing shirts and pants. It looked as if they had packed to travel. She pulled one of Aedan's shirts out and hugged it to herself, inhaling the scent of her husband. Her heart pained her, felt as if it might stop. She had to put the shirt aside, but she couldn't make herself do it. She sat on the bed, mindful of the fact she disturbed the trim of the quilt, and continued hugging the shirt.

"Tell me what to do, Aedan," she asked the empty room, her voice quiet, shaky.

Perhaps she could go to Celene, ask the Empress for help? Would the Orlesian ruler mount an effort to save her husband? She knew of Celene's fondness for the Hero of Ferelden, but would that extend to risking lives to rescue him? She did not know where to find him, what would Marjolaine do to him while they searched? Perhaps… and here she shook her head. Why would Morrigan risk her life to save him? She already had what she wanted. Leliana's thoughts whirled around and her stomach tumbled with them.

"I cannot do this. I have to do this." Over and over she whispered the two sentences, out loud and in her mind until she got them confused. Aedan would do this for her, of that she had no doubt. He may not understand her doing it for him, but she could not do otherwise. He was her heart. They would have so few years together because of the taint, she could not conceive of giving up on him now. Putting aside the shirt, Leliana stood up and moved to the balcony.

Her heart pounded as she realised the curtains that waved softly behind the open windows of Paul Le Trene's apartment glowed with soft light. Had he stirred, had his daughter woken up? Perhaps he had just arrived home? A shadow moved behind the curtains, tall, a man. Her heart in her mouth, Leliana un-slung the bow from her back and cradled it in her arms a moment.

She could do it from here, she could use the bow and gain the distance she needed. To not have to feel his flesh beneath her hands, to not have to watch the spill of his blood, to not have to know that his daughter slept in the next room. Oh Maker, hear my cry! The chant finally spilled into her head as her hands automatically strung the bow, tightened the tension, reached for an arrow.

One of the curtains moved aside and Paul Le Trene stepped out onto the balcony. He leaned heavily against the low stone rail and Leliana could tell he had been drinking. She raised the bow.

Blood rushed and pumped throughout her body, the beat of her heart so loud behind her ears she thought he might hear it and look up, across the dark expanse of night between them and see her, see the bow, the arrow that wavered and moved until she had it pointed at his heart. She pulled against the gut.

A breeze swirled between the two wings of stone, stirring the leaves in the courtyard below, carrying the scent of jasmine and rose from the garden, catching a whiff of Andraste's Grace from the open window behind her. Paul Le Trene straightened and stretched. He would move back inside any minute now. She adjusted her aim and both felt and heard the creak of tension as the fletch of the arrow passed her ear and the line stretched backward.

Her target's face blurred a moment and her aim faltered. She saw Aedan, she saw her children, she saw Marie. And then Paul Le Trene shifted and looked up, across the void between their balconies. Though she would never be sure, it felt as if their eyes met. Time seemed to pause, the world fell silent. The chant ceased within her mind, her breath halted.

She let the arrow fly.

* * *

_A/N: The title of this chapter comes from a Cold Play song, 'Yellow'._

"For you i bleed myself dry"

_(Lyrics below belong to Cold Play, of course.) _

_Look at the stars,  
Look how they shine for you,  
And everything you do,  
Yeah they were all yellow,_

_I came along_  
_I wrote a song for you_  
_And all the things you do_  
_And it was called yellow_

_So then I took my turn_  
_Oh all the things I've done_  
_And it was all yellow_

_Your skin_  
_Oh yeah your skin and bones_  
_Turn into something beautiful_  
_D'you know you know I love you so_  
_You know I love you so_

_I swam across_  
_I jumped across for you_  
_Oh all the things you do_  
_Cause you were all yellow_

_I drew a line_  
_I drew a line for you_  
_Oh what a thing to do_  
_And it was all yellow_

_Your skin_  
_Oh yeah your skin and bones_  
_Turn into something beautiful_  
_D'you know for you i bleed myself dry_  
_For you i bleed myself dry_


	25. The Embrace

The Embrace

Aedan could not track time in the dark. He slept and he woke, always alone. Hunger plagued him constantly, the pain in his empty stomach rivaling the ache of his broken bones, the sting of his back. Thirst toyed with him. No further buckets of water had appeared since the whipping and Aedan guessed this was Bastion's own form of punishment. In addition to his injuries, a general sense of illness now seeped beneath his skin and Aedan feared infection from some of his older wounds. The split skin over his ribs felt warm, though all his skin felt dry and hot to his hands. But the deepest cut, where the dagger had nearly gone through his forearm, pained him the most. The flesh about the crusted scabs had swollen, he could feel it in the dark, and the heat of it frightened him. An infection of the blood, a festered wound, would kill him before any of his other injuries might. He couldn't tell if the shivering that took him now and again came from hunger, fatigue, the pull of skin across his back, or a fever.

Dreams taunted him and the line between sleep and wakefulness began to blur.

"Have some cake, Daddy." Rory's voice seemed to echo about the dungeon at odd moments.

Aedan blinked into the darkness, looking for the centre of the hedge maze, looking for his boys, but only the black of night met his gaze. He pulled himself into a sitting position and remembered where he was. The memory of cake made his gut twist. Anything, he'd eat anything right now. Every movement pained him, but he felt a need to track time, to do something other than lie in the dark, and so he crawled forward on his hands and knees, inching and dragging his legs in turn because of the cuffs about his ankles, until he reached the end of the chains. He worked his way back and forth until he found he could not reach the device that coiled the chains. Not that he'd expected he might…

Dizziness claimed him and he sank against the cool floor where he was, turning his cheek against the stone, and then moving it as the stone warmed from his fevered skin. A burning pain across his back brought him back to the dungeon once more, he'd rolled and lay on his back and must have moved, scraping the raw skin against the floor. He worked his way onto his side, though it hardly felt better, his ribs pained him on the right, the gash across his side on the left. He chose the left and after shivering and jerking as his skin touched the floor, settled, a soft sigh parting his lips as the cool stone soothed the warm skin there as well.

"Aedan, mother is trying to find you."

He sat in the centre of the maze again, the tall green hedges shading him from the hot midday sun. A slice of pink cake rested on a plate in front of him and Aedan picked up the fork, his stomach cramping in anticipation. But he couldn't chew, his nose hurt and his mouth was too dry and the cake seemed to suck the last moisture from his tongue.

Putting the fork aside, Aedan glanced up at Cian to ask him for some water, but Morrigan sat there instead.

"'Tis a pity this cake is so dry," she murmured, licking the frosting from her fork.

Aedan blinked and she disappeared. He sat alone in within the square of verdant hedge. A step sounded behind him and he turned, wincing at the pull of skin across his ribs, his back. He noted then that he wore nothing but his underwear and that his skin was filthy, bruised, scraped and stained. He could smell himself, sweat and a mixture of scents he either could not or did not want to identify. Glancing up from the gash across his arm, Aedan saw Leliana standing on the path. She held Rory's hand.

"We are looking for you, Aedan."

"I'm right here," he rasped.

He tried to stand. He pushed himself to his feet, but his legs trembled as he attempted to straighten, and again, his feet were bound together. He lacked stability. His head spun and throbbed, but he got up and turned. Leliana and Rory had disappeared. Pulling his feet apart, Aedan walked, taking one shaky step after another until his legs steadied. He called out into the maze. "Leli, I'm here!"

He tried to run. The hedges became unkempt as he passed through the maze and branches kept catching his legs and his arms, scratching his skin, making it sting and burn. He saw a sweep of skirt fluttering near the next corner and he stretched out his legs until he moved at a jog, the jarring motion waking a thousand aches and pains throughout his body.

"Leli, Rory!" It hurt to yell.

Something trickled down his back and he cried out at the sensation, not quite pain, but wholly unpleasant. He stepped forward, tripped over something and caught himself against the hedge. Though the green leaves looked soft and pliant, they were not. They pricked and stung his hands and his shoulder. Looking down he tried to move his feet past what he had stumbled over and saw Rory lying on the path, curled up as if asleep. Aedan crouched by his son, wincing as the movement woke fresh pains, and tried to rouse the boy. Rory whimpered in his sleep and the trickling sensation returned.

Aedan hissed and gasped and turned his head. Leliana sat behind him, a wet rag in her hand.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"I have to wash you."

"Stop, please. It hurts."

She frowned and moved away. Rory had disappeared when he turned back and so Aedan tried to follow Leliana instead. She had gone. Frustration tore through him and he leaned against the hedge, feeling exhausted. The trickling returned, a flow of cool water across his tortured skin. Aedan opened his eyes.

Dim light flickered from the dungeon walls and he lay on his side still, facing away from the door, the winch and coil of chains just out of reach before him. A dripping sound preceded a gentle flow of water across his back and he shivered, hissed and gasped.

"Stop," he pleaded.

"I have to wash you."

"Leli?"

Hope swept through him and he tried to roll, to turn, but her hand settled on his shoulder, gently but firmly.

"Let me finish, I am nearly done." Her voice sounded thick with tears and he knew she cried as she worked, either for the state of his back, their imprisonment or for her own reasons. That she sat in the dungeon with him lifted his heart momentarily and then despair gripped him. She was still here, still captured.

"You're still here." His voice broke horribly, hurting his throat and then he realised she had water. "Water, please can I have some water?"

She dripped more water down his back and dabbed delicately at his skin, the hand on his shoulder staying in place, holding him as still as she could despite his shivering and trembling.

"You have to try not to lie on your back," she whispered quietly. "It is such a mess, Aedan."

He heard her squeezing out her cloth once more and then both of her hands rested against his shoulder.

"Can you sit up?"

With a grunt he braced himself against the floor and pushed himself up, gritting his teeth at the pull and stretch of his skin, the grate of broken bones. The world spun as his head raised and he swallowed drily, closing his eyes against the flicker of light playing off the dull grey stone. He sat. Then he tried to turn around and shuffled about with her help until he faced her. He held out his arms and she moved into them. He hugged her close, ignoring the pain of it, the feeling of her in his arms making his heart pound and stealing his breath.

"Leli." He kept patting her as if to make sure she really sat there, that this wasn't a dream. He then decided that even it was a dream, he didn't care, she felt real enough in his arms.

"Aedan, I'm sorry."

He had no idea why she might apologise; none of this was her fault. "Not your fault," he said. "Bastion, bastard," he muttered. "Marjolaine, mad." He thought to say, 'Leliana, lovely,' but remembered his thirst. "I need water."

As she moved away he felt the wetness of her tears against his shoulder and he looked down to watch the path they attempted to make through the grime coating his skin. A cup moved into his line of sight and he grabbed at it, moved it greedily to his mouth. At first he thought he might throw it back up, the water seemed to splash down and bubble back up into his throat. He swallowed convulsively and took smaller sips, waiting for them to absorb before taking another. It felt as if it would never be enough. The water stirred his hunger.

Handing the cup back to her he tried to lean forward and watch as she refilled it. A tray sat on the floor beside her and a bowl sat upon the tray, a bowl with spoon sticking out of it. "Food?" he asked hopefully. And then he smelled it. Stew. Did he dream it? Had wishful thinking conjured the smell of meat and vegetables in rich broth? His stomach turned over and pinched and he groaned aloud at the sensation.

Leliana tried to hand him more water, but he became fixated on the bowl. He brushed the cup aside and reached for it, dimly aware he was being rude. Action refused to cooperate with thought, however, either due to hunger or fever, and the bowl with the spoon became a focus. He needed the bowl. He needed it now.

Leliana handed him the bowl with a soft, but stern warning. "Slowly, Aedan, slowly."

He tried to heed her advice. His broken nose ensured he did. He could barely chew without disturbing it and had to suck the flavour from the pieces of meat, softening them before gently chewing and swallowing. As he ate, Leliana fiddled with the cuffs about his ankles. He heard a scrape and click, and glanced down.

"What are you doing?" His voice sounded a little firmer and this pleased him.

She didn't answer right away; instead she took his hands, one by one, cradling his wrists as she worked at the cuffs before she slipped something back within the shoulder crease of the dusky leathers she wore. Why did she wear leather armour? Aedan blinked at her outfit, but could not make sense of it. He continued to eat and she leaned forward, shuffling until her lips met his ear.

"Do not loosen your cuffs yet, Bastian would notice. Keep your feet together until he leaves, then rest, my love. Gather your strength. He will come for you again and you must be prepared for him." She paused and her lips brushed his ear gently, causing a fresh shiver to travel down his back. "Use your anger, Aedan. Embrace it, allow it to free you."

Use his anger? Aedan moved his feet and noticed that the cuffs felt loose, as if they might drop off; the cuffs about his wrists jangled similarly. "Why is he coming again?" Would Bastion break more bones? Whip him again? He couldn't help the shudder that tore through him and he had to close his eyes briefly, gather himself. He had hoped the last punishment meant Leliana had escaped. Why was she still here? Why did he have so many question and no answers? He glanced into the bottom of the bowl. Where had all the stew gone? He suddenly felt like a little boy who understood nothing and had been told 'no' too many times. He forgot what he'd been trying to ask. "Leli, I can't think properly."

"Oh, Aedan."

Tears ran down her cheeks and taking the bowl, placing it aside, she crept forward to touch his cheek, his shoulder, anywhere she could lay her fingers without causing him pain. He grabbed her hand and pressed it to his lips, closing his eyes. His full belly dragged him down, made him feel sleepy, but he didn't want to go yet, he wanted to stay with his wife.

"You will feel better when you wake up," she said softly.

"I don't want to sleep," he mumbled. "I want to stay with you." He remembered one of his questions. "Why are you still here? Leli, you have to get away."

Warmth started flooding through him, spreading from his belly and he recognised the feeling. A health poultice. His eyes widened and he looked at her and she nodded, putting a finger to her lips. One poultice would do little for the myriad of wounds he had, it would not heal his broken bones or mend the torn flesh across his back. It might keep the fever at bay, it would help him sleep and restore some of his constitution. It would give him a little more strength. The room started to spin slowly about him as the poultice spread beneath his skin, touching at wounds, strengthening his blood. His eyes drifted closed as he sat there and Aedan jerked them open again. He did not want to sleep, he'd slept enough.

"Can I come with you now? Let's do it now." His whisper sounded childish in his ears, as though he were begging not to be left alone.

Leliana shook her head. "We're not ready." She tugged gently on his shoulder. "Lie down, rest your head in my lap. I will sing for you."

Aedan gazed at her in the dusky light. Despite the shadows in her eyes, the creases across her forehead and the sad set of her mouth, she looked beautiful to him. He stroked his thumb across her cheek. "I love you, Leli. I'm sorry you're still here, but thank you for being here." Did that make any sense?

"I love you, Aedan." Leliana seemed incapable of saying more, she clamped her mouth closed and she sniffed and cried softly, quietly.

He leaned forward and kissed her, softly, just a brush of lips. It pained him to do so, but he did it anyway, and then with her help he eased himself back down to his side, resting his head in her lap. He hissed and shivered as his body settled down and he tried to shift as little as possible until he reached a state of almost comfort. Her hand fell across his head and she stroked his short hair, fingers gently massaging his scalp.

Leliana sang and he fell asleep.

He awoke, after a deep and dreamless sleep, alone on the cool stone floor.

Had she been a dream? Aedan moved and felt the pull and ache of all his wounds, but it hurt less, or so he thought. His mind felt a little clearer, he felt rested. Hunger clawed at him and he pushed himself back up and noticed the looseness of his cuffs. She had been here and he remembered her whispered instructions. His hand brushed past a bucket and he slipped his fingers inside. Water. He lifted it and drank. Though it tasted faintly of cloth, dust, perhaps blood, he didn't care, it was wet. He drank until his stomach felt full and then set the bucket down and resisted the urge to hug it.

Leliana's visit took on a dream like quality in his mind and he played it over, trying to remember all she had said. She had been wearing leather armour; that he did not understand. If she had access to armour or weapons, why was he still locked in a dungeon? Where had the health poultice come from? Aedan shrugged his shoulders and evaluated the feel of his back. It hurt, but not as it had before. It had the feel of wounds that tried to close rather than wounds that refused to heal. Movement would open them again, but the fire had dissipated somewhat. He felt for the deep wound in his forearm and his fingers found swollen skin and a stickiness that might be blood or… infection.

She had said Bastian would return. Aedan's gut roiled as he contemplated the jailor's visit. Why would Bastian return? More punishment no doubt, perhaps Leliana had found a way to engineer her escape and had warned him of the expected reprisal? Sadness welled within then and grief pulled at his heart, making it slow and ache. Had she been saying goodbye? Had she washed and fed him as part of her farewell? Would she, could she, leave him here alone, to face the consequences of her actions? While a part of him hoped she would, that she could – he would willingly give his life for her, for his children – another part of him mourned the loss of her. His mind refused to contemplate the punishment he would endure for her freedom, the bones that would be broken, the pain and frustration of being chained and unable to defend himself.

Then he remembered the loosening of his cuffs, he was free of his chains! Hope bubbled within only to die again as he realised he still sat in a dark and dank dungeon. Why hadn't she taken him with her? Grief wrapped his heart again.

"Leli…" Her name sighed out on a breath and caught in his throat.

Aedan rubbed at the scar on his forehead, his fingers fiddling with the line of tissue for longer than usual, tracing it, appreciating the feel of a wound that had healed, despite the fact it had left him marked. His thoughts were still misted and as he sat there trying to piece back together Leliana's visit, he remembered her words.

"Use your anger, Aedan. Embrace it, allow it to free you."

Use his anger? It still did not make sense; he hoped her words would become more clear when the time came to heed them. Allow it to free him? Freedom. Perhaps she meant for him to free himself as part of her plan? She could not do it all… she needed his help. Hope flared brightly. He would not give in and he would not give up. Bastian would not break any more of his bones.

Aedan prepared to wait for his jailor, determination strengthening his resolve and his body. He did not have to wait for long. He heard the Bastian coming before the faint line of light indicated he stood outside the door. A jingle of keys, the turn of the lock and the rectangle of illumination. The hulking shadow stepped through.

"Hallo, Sunshine. Still with us I see."

Aedan growled low in his throat and Bastian laughed. 'Laugh you bastard' Aedan thought to himself, seeking his anger and his rage, reaching for them, embracing them.

Bastian stepped closer, just out of range of how far they both knew Aedan could reach with the chains attached to his wrists. "Shall we dance today? Or are you going to be a good boy?"

Aedan spat across the space, his aim off, his spit falling well short. But the gesture pleased him none the less and Bastion raised a brow in response.

"I do like you, Sunshine." He dramatically clutched at his breast. "It breaks my heart to punish you. But perhaps your wife does not admire your spirit as I do, hm?" He moved to the side, taking his usual path along the wall toward the reel of chains.

Aedan used the edge of the bucket to pull himself to his feet, careful not to dislodge his cuffs, knowing he needed the element of surprise to tackle a larger foe, one armoured, albeit lightly, and not suffering from injuries and neglect. His anger, he needed to fuel his anger.

"My 'spirit' as you call it, is important to her."

Bastian paused and raised a brow, looking him up and down. "Then why am I here to break more bones?"

"Because she knows I will never give up."

Bastion laughed jovially, confident he could continue to taunt his captive, that Aedan remained chained securely. But the thought of more broken bones, the way Bastian's hand rested lightly over the staff at his hip, helped Aedan reach for the rage within. Truthfully the idea of more pain both fatigued and terrified him. A part of him wanted to lie down and give up, he hurt so much. Every breath hurt, every movement awakened another ache, another pain. To ask for more, to receive more, the idea nearly robbed him of breath. Would it not be easier simply to give in to it? To lie down and die? But he reached for the fear, the terror. If he died or became so wounded he could no longer help himself, and could provide no aid to Leliana, could not assist in her unknown plan, she might wait too long or waste time on him, she might fail, she might never win her freedom. He felt it start, the ball of anger curling in his gut and he greeted his old friends, fury and rage with a louder growl, one that caused Bastion to raise his brow instead of laugh.

The jailor turned and continued toward the device, ready to turn the crank and haul him up the wall. Aedan closed his eyes and thought of everything that made him mad, he called upon all of his anger. He thought of Marjolaine taunting his wife and his fists clenched, he thought of Luke and all that he had put his son through and an invisible hand squeezed his heart. He thought of the architect and his foul plans, the underground laboratories and his endless struggle to stem the tide of darkspawn and fire burned through his blood as the fever gripped him. He thought of Rory, the son that might grow up never knowing his father, and the rage seethed within him. Aedan shook his wrists and kicked out with his feet, loosening the cuffs, and threw himself at Bastian.

He yelled as he landed on the man's back, a war cry of sorts, a sound from the gut that focused his rage and declared his purpose. Aedan locked his arm about Bastian's throat, thrust his other fist just to the side of the jailor's spine, above his hip, aiming for the kidney, knowing the leather would absorb some of the impact. But his fist had a dual purpose. He would drive his opponent forward somewhat, over the hook of his arm, wedging his throat more firmly into his hold. He next kicked at the jailor's legs, aiming for the backs of knees, feeling the first withstand and the second give and bend forward.

Bastian sagged slightly against the arm about his throat and Aedan felt triumph wash through him briefly as a strangled sound emerged from the other man's lips. Then an elbow flew back into his side, sending a gasp from his own mouth and Bastian's head cracked backwards, catching him on the chin and cheek, a stunning blow that caused him to falter and stumble back a step. Aedan fought to keep his arm locked as his vision dimmed, the fresh burst of pain threatening to make him lose his focus. He kicked again and Bastian locked his knee, his superior weight lending him stability. Aedan began to feel like a child attached to man's back and panic edged in.

Another elbow flew back, this time catching his broken ribs and Bastian kicked backwards and down, his boot landing across Aedan's bare foot. Aedan howled at the crushing sensation, knowing the delicate bones across his foot had given way beneath the boot heel, the pain distracting him from the fresh poke of his ribs. He tried to draw a breath and his side stabbed, his head spun and a red haze crept before his eyes. He punched with his fist again, rapping his knuckles against Bastian's ear three times before the jailor grabbed his hand. Then Bastian threw himself backwards and Aedan fell beneath his weight, the world rushing away from him, he might have yelled, he may even have screamed as frustration, fury and rage gave way to true fear. Hitting the floor would hurt; the weight of the jailor on top of him would really hurt.

Maker, the pain! He felt as if he had been crushed, he couldn't breathe, spots danced before his eyes and then the sound in the room started to waver in and out. Bastian rolled on top of him, disturbing ribs, his head catching Aedan's bruised cheek and time began to slip. Aedan's first instinct was to hold on, he reached for his templar techniques, he sought to drop the fit, to calm the rage before he lost all control. Philippe was not here to help him, to talk him down, to knock him out. And then he remembered Leliana's words: Embrace it, allow it to free you. If he did not, he would die. Bastian would kill him now; this would be his last fight.

His first attempt at defense felt feeble, as if he merely patted the jailor, and he blinked in surprise as blood sprayed from Bastian's face, raining drops across his skin and over the stone. Aedan watched as the spurt of blood seemed to freeze in the air and then he felt the warm wetness of it catch is cheek, and then Bastian's head moved, but didn't move and there his fist was again, connecting with the jailor's jaw. Time moved back and forth, sped up and slowed down, he could hear nothing and everything. His knees raised and his hips bucked, throwing the man from himself and Bastian seemed to pause in the air a moment. A fist connected with Aedan's cheek but he didn't feel the pain until after Bastian had skidded across the floor beside him. Aedan realised dimly that he had succumbed to a berserk fit and while his instinct warred with itself, while his mind screamed at him to control himself, to pull back, his body said otherwise. All of his injuries combined into one huge hurt, and he used it, fed it to his purpose. He embraced his anger; he welcomed the fury and the rage.

Then Aedan shut off his thoughts and fully let go.


	26. The Mage

The Mage

Alistair did not try to dissuade Zevran from his course once the elf declared his intent to slip through the narrow gap and escort Luke. In fact, relief unfurled within him. Luke had looked confident in his course, but they had walked a long way, and he had been somewhat injured. Worry and doubt had niggled at him in the hour or so since the young Warden had left. The only thing that had soothed his thoughts was the fact Luke was probably safer on that side of the rock fall than this.

Glancing about at the dusted and tumbled portion the Deep Roads they occupied, Alistair gave into a sigh. The darkspawn had laid traps for them before, had even led them into ambushes before. He could not think back over their time beneath Orzammar without shuddering in memory of the darkness and horror of it. Their current predicament struck him as similar, but somehow more dire. They were beneath Denerim, his city, his capitol, they were beneath his throne. And this trap, this ambush, had been more diabolical than anything they had previously encountered. Instead being lured about a corner and into the path of a ballista or a series of bear traps, they had been led for ten or twenty miles beneath the city. Casting his eyes back towards the fall of rock that blocked the entrance and exit to the Deep Roads, Alistair could not help wondering at the nature of the explosion. What had triggered it? Obviously the darkspawn had not been able to unlock the dwarven door, so why cut off their only path to the surface? Unless… They had others, obviously, the path taken by the peddler to sell the trinkets, if they were connected. Shaking his head and looking away from the small hole in the rock that Zevran had just slithered through, Alistair decided that yes, they were connected.

Panic gripped him then. Did darkspawn overrun his city while he stood trapped beneath the ground? Fear joined the dread and Alistair had to take several deep breaths and reach for his focus, his templar techniques to calm his mind. Until Luke returned with enough soldiers to turn that lock, he needed to make better use of his time than stand about and worry.

Making his way back to their makeshift camp, he started calling for reports.

Of the eleven soldiers, three were gravely wounded. Alistair had no idea how Samuel had made it to the camp, let alone survived the fight. He had lost his helm in the explosion and it looked as if half his face had gone with it, yet the burly warrior had swung his great sword determination and power, lending his remaining strength to the fight. Now he lay in a heap against the wall with rags clutched to the side of his head, rags soaked with blood. Anders napped; he had expended much of his mana during the battle and needed to restore some before he continued healing. Before he had succumbed to sleep he had brought one soldier to a state of screaming consciousness, both men regarding each other over the horror of the soldier's injuries, both of them wondering if it might not have been kinder to let him go. Peter tended the man now, doing his best to bind the terrible wound that had nearly loosened his leg entirely from his body. The remainder of the living suffered the usual assortment of cuts, bruises, dented armour, ringing ears and fatigue.

The dead lay about them, some half buried by fallen stone, one man wedged horribly into a great crevice that had opened in the floor. Others had been killed by the darkspawn. One man still lay in the dark hole behind the rock fall and Alistair had an awful feeling that there he would remain. The injuries Mason has sustained sounded beyond a mage's ability, but knowing Anders, he would try anyway. Here Alistair's thoughts paused a moment. Should he try and talk Anders out of healing the most badly wounded, have their only mage save his strength for what was to come? These and other thoughts chased each other about his head and Alistair blinked several times before Oghren's voice finally made it through.

"Alistair?"

"Hm?"

"Maybe you should be sittin' down?" The dwarf actually looked worried and Alistair studied his stout friend, the Commander of his armies, and felt enormously relieved by his simple presence. He was not alone.

He walked to a wall and sank down it, using the surface to slow his unsteady descent, and sat. "Right, where were we?"

"I don't know where you were, but I was talkin' about the rock fall." Oghren jerked his thumb over his shoulder towards the dark fissure they had created. Now and again another creaking groan would come from that direction and more dust and pebbles would drift downwards in clattering cloud. "We need to stuff rocks back in there, shore it up, or that whole section of roof will come down on our heads and we'll never get back to the door."

Alistair nodded quickly. "I agree. We cannot afford to get cut off from that door. It's where Luke will bring our reinforcements. Let's do it."

He struggled to gain his feet again and Oghren laid a hand on his shoulder. "Why don't you supervise from here, eh?"

Alistair did not want to sit and think any more, however, and so after Oghren moved off to supervise the work, he shuffled sideways towards Peter and indicated he would sit by the wounded soldier until Anders awoke. Then he remembered Mason. He lay on the other side of the hole they sought to fill, horribly wounded. Could Anders heal through a wall? Another impossible decision lay before him and Alistair gripped the soldier's hand tightly as he warred with his conscience. Wake up Anders now? Stop Oghren's work? Risk perhaps all of their lives to tend to one wounded man? His heart said yes, his head said no. Much as it pained him to do so, Alistair had to side with his head. Biting his lips closed into a thin, firm line he remained silent and watched them carefully restack the rocks and boulders.

Anders awoke well after the work on the wall had finished and Alistair noted the mage looked much recovered. The blonde man inspected the few dead bodies they had been able to reach through the rubble before moving on to the wounded. Alistair felt a wave of healing move through him and sighed with quiet relief as his many aches and pains began to diminish. Anders had decided to give them all a boost before working on the most wounded. As the mage moved next to him, Alistair thanked him.

"The strong must stay strong," Anders muttered in answer and Alistair nodded, seeing the sense in his reasoning. "What is the plan, Alistair? Do we wait for Luke's return?"

With over half their men unable to fight, Alistair felt his only answer to be: "Yes." He nodded towards Oghren and the able bodied soldiers working a short way down the Road. "We are fortifying our position. We'll advance once we have reinforcements." Lowering his voice, not sure if he should make the admission, Alistair added, "I fear the worst is still ahead." Or above? Alistair could not voice his next thought: Luke would return with news from Denerim, he would know if the darkspawn flooded the city.

Anders glanced towards the rock wall and Alistair cast his eyes in the opposite direction. He did not ask if the mage could heal through a wall and Anders did not mention the horribly wounded man. The mage looked back at their camp and moved over to Samuel's side. "Let's take a look at that ear."

##

Alistair opened his eyes expecting to find darkspawn looming over him and he did, in a way. None of the foul creatures had invaded their space, breached their defenses, but the taint rolled toward them in a faint but tangible wave from the Deep Roads. Scrubbing his eyes and cheeks, Alistair sat up and groaned as he felt the stiffness of his body. Anders had done his best to patch up the worst of his and everyone else's wounds, but one mage can only do so much. Rolling is shoulders, flexing them, working them within the confines of his armour, Alistair got to his knees and, pushing off the wall, to his feet. Gore and dust coated everything. He could taste it in the back of his throat and idly wondered if he would ever get the taint out of this nose, off of his tongue. He remembered this from their time beneath Orzammar too, the constant fatigue, the collection of nagging injuries, the layers of grime.

Jared sat slumped against the wall beside him and Alistair reached down to shake his shoulder. Flicking open his eyes, the Warden blinked up at him, stared, and then scrambled to his feet.

"How long do you think we have?" he asked.

Alistair shook his head. The taint was vague and faint; he couldn't tell yet if that was due to distance or the number of darkspawn. Either way, they had enough time to wake the rest of their party and so they set about doing just that. The three worst injured were given bows and told to stand back. Only one protested his instructions, and a look from his Commander and the King silenced his objections. He took the bow and moved to the back.

They waited. The taint stopped moving forward. They waited some more.

A flicker in his sense and then an arrow shot past his helm and buried itself in the single figure that stepped forward, passing through the neck causing a spray of dark fluid to arc out as the creature dropped and lay still upon the ground. Silence followed.

Another single figure appeared around the bend in the road and was dropped by two arrows this time, while another flew over its head. The soldiers were prepared and Alistair could faintly hear the sounds of new missiles being notched into bow strings behind him. Oghren turned briefly, his expression inscrutable beneath his helm but his posture adequately relaying his surprise.

Anders's voice floated from behind the archers. "Are they giving us target practice now?"

Two of them came forward this time and as the arrows flew between them, covering the distance with deadly accuracy, Alistair noted one of the figures had its hands up, in a gesture of… surrender?

Jared must have noticed also. "Alistair, I don't think they are…"

"Holy Maker…"

"Your Majesty!"

Maker's breath! They were killing people, tainted people! Horror and remorse swept though Alistair, leaving him sickened and dizzy. He held up his gauntleted hand at the same time as Peter and they both called a halt as two more figures appeared from the shadowed corner. The people paused, one of them almost cowering as they obviously waited for the arrows to fly forward, and when none did, they cautiously stepped forward, walking slowly to the first in the series of barriers Oghren's men had erected.

"Is this some devious new tactic?" Peter whispered next to him.

Without turning his head, Alistair grunted softly. The idea shocked him – were these former citizens of Denerim? Did it matter? All Fereldans were his people. He had been killing his own people! "Peter, I, I don't know," he admitted softly. He wished Aedan were here, or Philippe, or Wyman. Turning, he beckoned Jared to his side. "Jared, you have been in the Deep Roads with Aedan, right?"

Jared nodded. "Just the once, two patrols ago. And no, we've never been 'fed' tainted people before. They usually flee; lead us to one of these laboratories. Though the Commander has encountered the talking darkspawn on occasion, they come with invitations and entreaties."

Perhaps these people had been sent forward with a message? Alistair shuddered and entertained the crazy notion that he preferred his darkspawn mindless.

More tainted figures appeared down the road, a small huddle of people standing in a shy group. The first two had rounded the barrier but had not advanced any farther. The other group stayed where it was. The taint roiled about the closed space despite the high ceiling and draft from the chimney and Alistair felt sweat once again rolling beneath his armour, his skin greasy and clammy against his linen under things. He stepped forward and Jared laid a hand on his arm.

"Alistair, let me."

Nodding and sighing, Alistair acquiesced and let the other Warden step forward. Silence cloaked the odd tableau as Jared walked slowly towards the figures. He stopped a full body length away from them and nodded slightly in a sort of greeting.

One of the figures, its sex indecipherable due to its lack of hair and loose clothing, filthy breeches and shirt, looked up and spoke.

"I come with an invitation from the Mage."

A soft voice, a female voice. Alistair shuddered.

Jared turned about and cocked his head at Alistair, lifting one shoulder in a slight shrug.

Alistair glanced at Peter, Oghren and then Anders. All looked back at him, awaiting his decision. Andraste's flaming sword, why had he sent Aedan to Orlais? Of course, if he hadn't, the Warden Commander would be beneath Gwaren right now and in no position to take this matter in hand. Stiffening his spine and steeling his nerve, Alistair made his decision.

"We Wardens will accept the invitation; we'll take half these men with us. Peter, would you remain here at the fortifications? Oghren, would you accompany me?"

"Yes, your majesty," the men chorused and after some shuffling and delegation, a contingent of five of the most hale soldiers formed up to accompany the three Wardens and their Commander further into the Deep Roads.

As they moved towards the two figures, Alistair's stomach flipped over at the taint rolling off of them. His eyes sought their necks and sure enough, the amulets rested there against blackened skin and dirty linen. Looking up, he noticed the other huddle of figures had dispersed, the folk fleeing into the shadows of the Deep Roads.

Their escorts turned and moved after them. The nine men followed.

"Alistair, I don't like this, not one bit."

Glancing down at Oghren, Alistair could only nod in response for a moment as his mind flicked over the many, many reasons why following these tainted people was a bad, bad idea. They were too few; nine of them would likely not survive another battle like those they had already fought down here. The men they'd left behind were weak, injured and exposed. They would be relying on reinforcements that may or may not come, depending upon Luke's success. Here his mind told him that Zevran would not let either of them down. His thoughts tried to wander here, ponder the Antivan's curious sense of loyalty and attachment to Aedan and his family and Alistair resolutely pulled his thoughts back to his current situation, recognizing his fatigue despite another nap. Naps propped up against a wall, fully armoured, in a dark cave, no matter how many they took, never counted as proper sleep.

"I don't either, Oghren, but I don't see as we have a lot of choice at the moment. We either wait there for the next ambush or trap or we parlay."

Oghren grunted. "You really think these darkspawn talk and think and act?"

"Aedan say so, Jared and Anders have seen it. I can't say as I understand it, but if they talk…" here he shrugged his shoulders. Could he reason with a talking darkspawn? Could they come to an agreement of sorts? Alistair cringed at the very thought, but he was King. King's made treaties with their enemies all the time.

They walked about a down the Deep Roads and Alistair could feel the taint widening and deepening before him as they progressed. Their escorts paused and the female, perhaps they were both female, pointed towards a tunnel cut into one wall. They climbed through it, moved a short distance ahead and waited for them to follow.

Alistair really did not want to go into that tunnel. Every instinct screamed at him not to go into that tunnel. Oghren told him not to go into the tunnel.

"Alistair, we are not going into that tunnel."

The soldiers milled nervously behind him and Alistair turned to face Jared and Anders. He simply shrugged at them.

Anders said, "I am not making this decision for you," and took a single step back.

Jared pulled his eyes from the tunnel entrance and regarded him thoughtfully a moment before talking. "I am guessing we're heading to a laboratory of sorts. They are always off the main Roads."

Holy Maker, crap, by Andraste! Alistair let the curses circle his head as he pondered the tunnel. He did not want to go into the tunnel and, despite a curl of curiosity that niggled in regards to actually seeing one of these laboratories, he did not want to see one of these laboratories.

"We'll go forward."

Were they walking towards their death? Uncertainty gripped him as he stepped into the tunnel. Really, he would prefer a Landsmeet full of dissidents compared to this! They followed their escorts for another mile or so, walking in relative silence. It wasn't until they had been walking for about fifteen minutes that Alistair realised the tunnels had become brighter, well lit and ventilated, wide and rubble free. Rather than reassure him, the level of light only made him more nervous.

Finally they emerged into a wide cavern with a low ceiling. The space was reasonably well lit though the walls were covered in moving shadows. As his eyes adjusted to the light and dark, Alistair picked out details that caused a ball of fear to tighten in his gut. Oh, yes, they were in a laboratory.

The cavern had a vaguely round, oval shape and doors pocked one side, at almost regular intervals. The other wall contained more tunnel entrances. The far side held low benches and tables piled with equipment, glass vials and tubes, bubbling cauldrons, books and scrolls. Light from several lanterns pooled here, shining off the glass and metal implements.

The remainder of the cavern held a series of low, long benches, pews of a sort, and here Alistair shuddered at the comparison, that lined up and fronted an… altar. People, dark skinned hairless people sat listlessly on the benches and yet more of them stood in doorways. A single figure stood behind the tables of equipment and as they paused in the entrance, he looked up and stepped forward. The peddler, even without having seen him before, Alistair new he faced the mysterious trinket merchant.

The cowl of the figure's cloak hid his features from view and his hands were covered by the fine linen gloves. The Mage, was this the Mage? The peddler stepped forward and drew back his cowl. Alistair's gut clenched and rolled. Darkspawn, this man, this creature, was darkspawn!

"You are not the Warden."

And it spoke.

"I am a Warden?" Did his voice have to go up at the end? Maker's breath! Alistair cleared his throat and tried again, searching for his kingly bearing. "You were expecting a particular Warden?"

Of course, as the peddler answered him, he knew exactly to whom he referred. "Yes. The tall one. The one with the blue eyes. The angry one. The one who has chased me north and west and south."

Aedan. The peddler had expected Aedan, of course.

"No, I am not that Warden."

The peddler nodded and made a dismissive gesture. "Well, I am here, as are you, as are most of my people. The Warden does not speak, he kills and destroys. You are different. Will you speak?"

Alistair swallowed and turned about to gauge the other Warden's reactions to this figure. They stood at the ready, the postures rigid, and their hands in position in case a battle ensued. He was talking to a darkspawn, it felt… surreal. Why didn't Aedan talk to these creatures? Perhaps they might reach an accord? Would it be possible? The King within urged him to speak while the Warden urged him to strike. Turning back to the peddler, Alistair nodded. "I will speak."

"I am the Mage. Might I know to whom I speak?"

Don't tell him you are the King. "Alistair."

He could not read the expression of the face before him; the dark leathery skin, the sunken eyes, the grimaced lips and pointed teeth look perpetually terrifying. But the head paused in thought a moment as his name was processed and then nodded. "Alistair," it repeated. "Will you listen to my plan?"

Here Alistair frowned and shook his head. "Is it any different to the plan of the Architect?"

"His methods were crude! His people could barely stand the light of day! He made an enemy of the Mother, the other darkspawn. I seek to unite us all."

"You tainted my people!" Alistair felt his anger building at last, overwhelming the shock and surprise at his situation. "Against their will, but trickery."

The Mage waved a hand. "Change is harsh; does not your religion resort to such trickery? Indoctrinating people against their will?"

Alistair rocked back on his heels. "No!"

"Do you not conscript soldiers to fight against your enemies?"

"Not in Ferelden, no." Though he knew that in other countries this happened regularly. Zevran was a conscripted soldier of sorts. His brow lowered, as were he and all the Wardens. Though they volunteered initially, they were conscripted by the ritual. Alistair did not like the direction of his thoughts. What sort of knowledge did this mage possess? He twisted such notions to suit his mad purpose.

The Mage's expressionless face regarded him silently a moment before he continued. "We do not have to be enemies. We could work together, you and I. Perhaps it is better that Ferelden has sent its King instead of its Warden this time."

Chilled shivers descended his spine. The Mage knew his identity. Alistair felt trapped, foolish and confused. How could he not, he talked with a darkspawn! He heard a soft growl behind him and turned to face Oghren.

"Alistair, I think this 'discussion' is over." The dwarf reached over his shoulder for his axe.

Jared reached for his blade and the soldiers readied their weapons.

Alistair spun about, seeing the tainted folk stand up and draw blades from their rags. They were unarmoured, yes, but there were so many of them and they were… his people! He held up his hands. "Wait, wait."

The king within urged him to try again, to make peace. "Tell me your plan."

Incredulous noises sounded over his shoulder, but Alistair refused to turn around and look at the faces of his men. He needed to listen to this darkspawn. What if there was a way to reach an accord?

"My brother, the Architect as you call him, was naïve. He sought an impossible dream. I seek something else. Time, I need time to perfect my experiments, to finish the work he started, to guide it in the right direction."

Alistair could not help but ask, "And what direction is that?"

"The joining of our peoples, of course."

The Mage gestured to a group of people huddled within the darkest corner, beckoning them, encouraging them to step forward. As they stepped into the light Alistair thought he might vomit. The taint emanated from them more strongly than the rest of the dark skinned inhabitants of the cavern and now he understood why. These were darkspawn, but not. They had been changed, they looked almost… human. Their skin retained the stained and leathered look of a tainted person and they were hairless, and their faces remained horrible to contemplate. What had changed was their posture, their stance, their very presence. Despite the wrongness of them, they did not radiate the mindless fury of a darkspawn, they were calm, and they listened to instruction. They wore amulets.

Horror swept through Alistair. Attempting to put it aside, to squelch his visceral reaction, he turned back to the Mage. "You intend us all to look like that?"

"We will be one."

Alistair did not want to look like a ghoul, he did not want Brenna to… his breath caught in his throat. What did it matter how they looked if peace reigned? But to live alongside darkspawn. Alistair understood Aedan's reasons for not listening to this conversation. The Warden Commander was blinded by rage and sorrow over what had happened to Luke. But Alistair was not. He could look at this objectively, couldn't he? Goosebumps rose along his flesh, the chill odd within the hot confines of his armour and Alistair tried not to shiver outwardly. Thinking about Aedan caused him grief. A part of him mentally berated his friend, his brother, for not listening to this talk, for killing speaking, thinking beings that perhaps desired peace. Another part of him felt the apprehension of reaching an agreement with the Mage behind the back of the Warden Commander. He could feel Aedan's fury, he would never understand. This would split them apart, perhaps forever.

"What of the Old Gods," he asked, pushing the conversation forward to the next logical place.

"If we are one, to what purpose will they call?"

An image rose in Alistair's mind of himself, his people, dark skinned and hairless rising in a wave over Ferelden, crossing the Frostbacks and falling upon the unsuspecting peoples of the Dales as they answered the call. Or the Dalish, or the dwarves. The implications began to seep in, the complications began to occur. They would not all submit to this, not willingly, their fear was too great. And with a flush, Alistair realised he did not want to be remembered as the King that had tried to make them. He could no ride at the head of a conquering army. He could no convert people to yet another cause he didn't truly trust or believe in. His thoughts warred. The idea of peace teased him, no matter how slight, but the image of Brenna, his beautiful wife, taunted him. Relief all but pushed aside a sliver of regret as he arrived at his answer to this conversation, to the unspoken question. He could not do it.

Pulling himself fully erect, straightening his spine and steeling his resolve, Alistair prepared to deny the accord. "I cannot…"

The Mage waved a hand and the world disappeared.


	27. Gains and Losses

Gains and Losses

Seventeen Wardens and Twenty more soldiers accompanied Luke and Zevran back to the dwarven locking device, their only way now to access the Deep Roads. Nate walked along side him for most of the way, chatting quietly about inconsequential things, catching Luke up on the happenings in and around Amaranthine in his absence. Luke appreciated the gesture as much as he appreciated the sight of Wyman's broad back in front of him. Someone else led the Wardens, someone else took responsibility now.

Thanks to many torches and Zevran, they marched an unerring course to the huge circular door, making the journey in less than three hours. Including his nap and journey back, Luke had been gone for over ten hours and the elapsed time made him nervous.

As the men set about working the device, Luke beckoned Zevran somewhat furtively.

"Can we check on Mason? I had to leave him in that other tunnel, I don't know if they were able to get to him, heal him."

Zevran frowned at him a moment and then nodded. They set off at a jog. Luke figured they wasted time on this errand, knew that Zevran realised this, but all the same, he could not deny the need to know. Mason and the nameless soldier might be buried in that hole for all time; he wanted to mark their memory.

As soon as they stepped through into the inky blackness, Luke knew Mason was dead. Zevran brought the torch through the gap and he noted the hole to the Deep Roads had been refilled, Mason had been entombed. The soldier had not moved, the canteen lay undisturbed and the torch had likely gutted hours before. Perhaps he had died before he woke again. Luke touched the man's cheek and whispered a prayer and though he wanted to linger, to give into a sudden and unreasonable grief, he did not.

They made it back to the locking device just in time to see it swing open. The sight inspired a certain amount of awe as the great and thick circular metal door moved soundlessly towards them, the intricate mechanisms within finally exposed. The taint blew through the hole in a tangible wave and as one the Wardens rocked back. Though a constant presence since they had descended beneath the Fort, the opening, the exposure of the Deep Roads, let it spew forth unchecked. Luke's stomach clenched and flipped as sweat ran down his back.

Wyman led them through the giant door and looked to Luke for direction.

"This way." Luke pointed to the left and they moved forward.

When they reached the first barrier a soldier nervously rose from behind it. Luke recognised Samuel and noted the extra layer of filth and grime on the man's armour, the lack of helm and the oddly clean pink skin of a healed wound that seemed to cover one entire side of his head. His ear was missing.

"Warden. Luke," he said by way of greeting, bobbing his head at each of them in turn.

A glance behind the soldier indicated a nearly deserted encampment amidst the rubble, a pile of dead bodies, a small group of wounded and dispirited looking men, and Peter.

"Wyman! Thank the Maker." The normally taciturn colonel looked as if he might hug the senior Warden, but settled for grasping his arm, shaking his head and peering down at his boots a moment.

Luke had deduced that Alistair, Oghren, Jared and Anders were missing. "Where is the King?"

Peter looked at him, his expression fearful. "They left hours ago, tainted folk came with an invitation from 'The Mage'." The colonel shook his head. "We have had no word. I, we," he spread his hands to indicate his company of six men. "We were waiting, praying that Luke made it through." Peter's eyes fell on Luke here and he nodded firmly. "Thank you, Warden."

The colonel fell silent a moment, his fatigue clearly showing as he searched for his questions and answers. Finally he looked up once more and began again, his voice firmer. "What news of Denerim?"

"The city is quiet, this peddler has been neither seen nor caught and only a few more tainted people have been found. Nicholas is studying them at the Fort; he has left their amulets on for now, the two 'calm'. The rest…" Wyman did not need to elaborate.

Peter visibly sagged in something like relief. "We had wondered if darkspawn overran the city while we dwelt down here within their trap."

The soldiers and Wardens were quick to reassure the colonel that this was not the case and Luke tried not to let the tremble in his legs show. That possibility had not occurred to him, and if it had been a reality, they might have been caught fighting a battle within the streets of Denerim while the King and his company of wounded soldiers fended for themselves below. Thank the Maker for small mercies.

Wyman cast his eyes about the group of men reclining in various postures about the barriers. "I'll leave it up to you, Peter, but if you'd rather get these men back to the Fort, I can station a few men by the door to keep a rear guard."

Peter nodded. "A sensible plan." He lowered his voice. "I think these men may be more hindrance than help at this stage. I will lead them back and then coordinate a more thorough sweep of the city, start looking for other entrances to the Deep Roads along the southern wall and beyond.

The two men nodded to one another in agreement.

They parted ways at the door and ten of the soldiers were left around the entrance, taking up defensive positions. The rest of them moved forward down the Deep Roads in search of their King, Commander and brothers.

They had progressed nearly a mile, the stench of the taint growing progressively stronger, when Zevran materialized from the gloom and held a finger to his lips. Wyman and Luke approached him and he spoke quietly.

"There is a tunnel just ahead with what sounds like rats scurrying within." The Antivan shrugged lightly. "Shall I investigate or continue forward?"

Wyman scratched his jaw and glanced at the men. "Why don't you take a look, Zev? We're due a break anyway; we'll wait here for you."

The company broke for a rest, canteens and snacks making quick appearances, weapons being checked and reset, some merely taking the weight off their legs a moment and reclining against one of the walls. Quiet prevailed, only one or two muted conversations floated above their heads. If not for the presence of the taint, the tableau may have been almost peaceful with the air of a company merely taking a break in their travels.

Luke sat, leaned against the wall and closed his eyes. Despite his four hour nap, weariness plucked at him and he realised he didn't even know what day it was, what time it was, or when he'd last sat at a table for a proper meal, bathed or seen something other than a soldier or the inside of a dark hallway, tunnel or corridor. This could be the rest of his life, he mused. This could be his future. It was neither as glorious nor as rewarding as he'd dreamed it might be when he'd first laid eyes on Aedan outside of Lothering. He had wanted to follow in the path of the Hero of Ferelden for the past five years and now that he did, he wasn't sure if he liked it any more. Perhaps he just needed a proper sleep. All battles came to an end; he would feel better when this was done.

A hand shook his shoulder and Luke opened his eyes. They felt gritty and watery and the brief nap had only reminded him of how much he wanted more sleep. Fighting a slight dizziness, he clambered to his feet. Nate steadied his shoulder and gave him a thin smile. "You alright there?"

Luke shook his head, but answered, "Yes."

Leaning in a little closer, the archer whispered, "Luke, if you wanted to go back to the door, or back to the Fort, none of us would fault you. You have done more than enough; you have performed your duty."

Maker's breath he was tempted, but he couldn't. A sense of resolve demanded he see this through as a proper and fully fledged Warden. Their motto rolled around his head and a tired smile tugged at his lips. In war, victory. In death, sacrifice. It was not his choice to make, this was his duty. Catching Nate's eye, he turned his smile upon the new Arl of Amaranthine. "Has Zevran returned?"

Nate's eyes darkened. "He has. The news is not good." Nate paused and tightened his grip on his shoulder. "He has found the lair of this Mage. No sign of Alistair and the others, though."

No! Luke's heart pounded and the lightheaded feeling returned. "We have to go there." He took a step forward.

"That is the plan, Luke. Wyman is preparing to enter the tunnel, they are in there. Are you ready?"

"I am ready."

The company made it halfway through the tunnel before they met resistance. Arrows challenged the first rank of Wardens, most harmlessly plinking of plated breastplates and helms. Wyman raised his shield and pushed forward, leading them onward, and every man drew his weapons and readied his blades. The battle had begun.

The tunnel had widened enough that six men could walk abreast, but they could not fight in such close quarters and so they spread out and back, a ripple moving throughout the company, forcing everyone to step backwards and away as they waited for the enemy to push through to the rear ranks, and prepared to pick off the stragglers.

Luke found himself in the middle and of course Zevran flanked him. Their first target slipped through along the wall and Luke quailed a moment before lifting his blades against the person, tainted and blackened but definitely human person before him. He closed his eyes as he swept his blades across the neck and flinched at the resultant spray of fluid. Zevran caught the next foe, neatly catching it in the chest with his blade before flicking it aside, letting the body's weight pull it away from his dagger. The rogue spun as he did this, his sword already seeking a new target, slicing across the abdomen. Luke stepped behind and backstabbed, not a warrior move, but training with a rogue had broadened his skill set. The tainted man dropped at their feet.

The sound of battle rose around them, echoing off the tunnel walls and the stench of taint and death suffused the air. Blood flew, but none of theirs. The slaughter was almost sickening as the tainted folk poured into the narrow space, their daggers and occasional sword ineffectual against armed and armoured men. They advanced slowly and finally began to edge into a wide cavern, the battle spilling into empty space. Then the firestorm hit.

Luke felt himself roll backwards before the roiling wave of fire and he closed his eyes and pulled his arm up to shield his face. Dimly he heard his sword scrape the wall beside him, but he did not drop his weapon, he clung to it. Memories threatened to overwhelm him. Such a firestorm as this had killed his sister; he had never quite forgotten the vicious heat of that wave that had thrown them backwards, him into the sheltered lee of the boulders, her against one with an audible and sickening crack. It seemed that the fire swirled above him for an hour though he knew it likely dissipated after only five

Wyman struggled to his feet and waved his arms about indicating they should spread along the walls and open their middle for the archers. Luke scrambled towards the senior Warden on his hands and knees before gaining his feet and glancing over his shoulder. Arrows flew thick and fast from the tunnel now, pushing the tainted horde back into the centre of the cavern causing many to simply drop and crumple into twisted piles of rags. The taint, Maker, the stench! Luke gagged and turned towards a clash of steel and froze. Darkspawn, they now fought darkspawn as well.

"Luke, I am assigning you and Zevran the task of finding and finding Alistair and his companions." Wyman barely paused for acknowledgement before throwing himself shield first into a genlock and raising his sword.

Luke turned and found himself face to face with another darkspawn. As he flicked his blades up and across, seeking vulnerabilities in the armoured figure before him, the floor began to buck and shake and a low rumble echoed in his ears. Confusion reigned. For a while the pattern of the battle became one of thrusting or parrying a blow, being thrown from his feet, picking himself back up, shaking his head and starting again. Adrenaline pumped, lending strength to his blades and Luke pushed himself forward, Zevran at his side. A huge axe came from nowhere, simply appearing out of the cloud of dust and smoke that permeated the air, and glanced off his shoulder plate. The ring of the blow deafened him and he fell sideways. From the ground he watched Zevran thrust both his blades forward into the gloom and then climb the hurlock, forcing the creature down before withdrawing his weapons and thrusting them both into the helm, splitting the thin metal with a spray of black blood. Luke tried to stand up, got thrown against the bucking floor, and tried again. He stood. The earthquake subsided, but he could not see the battle through the dust and smoke in the air. They could only ready their blades and attack anything that came through the fog. A Warden stumbled through next and they all pulled their strikes and shook their heads at one another in confusion.

Zevran cocked his head towards the wall. "This way, to the other tunnels, we need to find Alistair and Anders."

Anders, yes, they needed a mage! Now that the floor had stopped moving their pace quickened and they made the tunnels along the far wall with a minimum of interruption. Zevran plunged into the darkness and Luke followed, relying on sound and a fleeting shadow to guide him as the light of the chamber behind them faded away and the blackness closed in around him. He bumped into something and heard Zevran grunt.

"Put your hand on my shoulder Luke and keep up."

Sheathing his dagger, Luke did as instructed and trotted along behind the rogue as Zevran led them along the tunnel. A moaning sound warned them only seconds before a shriek pierced the silence and Luke moved to the wall and stuck his blade out before him, not able to see a thing and hoping that Zevran could. He heard the sound of the fight and trembled against the wall until Zevran stepped up beside him and felt for his shoulder. They moved forward again.

A light finally bit into the darkness, a single torch flaring against the wall ahead and Zevran plucked it from its bracket and tossed it towards him. Luke caught it and held it aloft. He could see. Another shriek materialized and Luke dropped the torch to the ground as he reached for his dagger and this time helped his companion dispatch the nebulous creature. Picking up the torch, they moved forward again.

The tunnel bent sharply and narrowed further, but they could see the end now, their destination. An iron grill stood at the end with two hurlocks in front of it. Out of the confusion of the battle, Luke could see the difference in these darkspawn; they had been talking to one another. Breaking off their conversation they reached for their weapons and advanced. Luke leapt towards the one with the huge, two handed axe and ducked low, flicking his blades out at the back of the creature's knees as he wheeled past, slicing into the tendon on one side and merely nicking the leather straps and flesh on the other. The hurlock dropped to one knee and his mighty swing bit into the floor of the tunnel instead of Luke's armour. Zevran followed up with a flurry that tore away at the hurlock's armour leaving a score of wounds over its chest and shoulder. A decisive thrust with Luke's sword from behind finished it off as Zevran spun and engaged the other hurlock, their blades meeting in a clash of steel. Pulling his blade from the armoured back, Luke stepped onto the body and pushed himself up, sweeping his blades over Zevran's head and crossing them before the other hurlock, seeking and accurately finding the gap, separating head from neck.

Zevran threw his head back as the spray of fluid arced out and raised a hand to wipe and flick it from his cheek. He laughed and patted Luke on the back, his dagger dangling downwards as he did so. "Nice one, my friend, very acrobatic!"

Luke grinned sheepishly at the odd compliment in the midst of battle and they set about letting themselves through the door with keys purloined from one of the bodies. Darkspawn with keys?

They entered a series of cells and immediately a familiar voice rang out into the darkness.

"Zev?"

"Alistair!" Luke ran forward and, finding the right cell, put his hands to the grillwork and looked through.

"Luke. Maker's breath! You made it. You have no idea how glad I am to see you."

Luke grinned and his heart filled with joy that his King, his brother, his friend was still alive. "I am glad to see you too. I've brought the Wardens!" He knew he sounded like a boy, but now that he had found Alistair and his companions, everything just felt… better.

Alistair shook his head incredulously. "From Amaranthine? They're here?"

Zevran had unlocked the door and they swung it open. Luke swept in and hugged the king and Alistair patted his back fondly. Luke found he could not help but hug Oghren as well and the dwarf offered a hearty chuckle.

"Let's save the celebratin' for when the mage is dead."

"Hear, hear!" Anders chimed in.

"What happened, Alistair?" Zevran enquired. "How did you end up caged with an amulet about your neck?"

Alistair briefly explained his meeting with the peddler, the mage, and the 'deal' he had been offered. Luke saw the confusion in the King's eyes and he well understood it. But he was overwhelmingly glad Alistair had sided with humanity, not matter how attractive the offer of peace. He did not believe, deep down, that there could be any lasting peace with the darkspawn, he had the taint within him, it just did not feel peaceful.

"But enough of that for now, we need to deal with the Mage and secure this laboratory, remove this threat," Alistair finished.

They all nodded.

Luke glanced about the cell. "Where is Jared?"

Alistair looked glum. "We don't know. Two of the soldiers are in the cell next to us, the other three…" he shrugged and dropped his head.

They released the soldiers and then checked the other cells. The three soldiers lay in one cell, two of them dead from horrible wounds, the third unconscious. Alistair reached down and plucked the amulet from the soldier's neck and threw it aside. "We all woke up with one of these about our necks. I can only pray they were not there long enough to do harm."

Though his voice sounded firm, Luke could see the worry, the fear in Alistair's hazel eyes. "Surely a Grey Warden would be immune to one of these amulets?"

Alistair shrugged. "One can only hope."

That he did not quip or jest spoke louder than his words and Luke nodded soberly. They found Jared next and Luke dropped to his knees beside the dead Warden. Anders landed beside him and immediately spread his hands and began chanting, but stopped soon after, his head bowed in a posture of defeat. Luke blinked a few times, feeling moisture gathering in the corners of his eyes. He'd seen many dead men in his young life and he could not articulate why Jared's loss struck him so forcefully. Perhaps because the Warden had been the first to arrive, alongside Anders? The first to heed their call for help? Or maybe simply because Jared had been a good man, a friend and a brother. Luke bowed his head and whispered yet another prayer, knowing it would not be the last he uttered before this battle ended.

"Alistair, your gear and weapons are here," Zevran called from the very first cell.

The company moved forward to reclaim gear, don armour, sheath weapons and ready themselves. No one spoke and a somber mood pervaded the atmosphere. Luke spent the time colleting his thoughts and pulling himself together. They had rescued the King but now he feared what they might find when they returned to the main cavern. This battle was far from over.


	28. Reprieve

Reprieve

Before her arrow could seek out the heart of Paul Le Trene a flash of light enveloped the advisor and he became enclosed in a force field. Leliana gasped and dropped the aim of her bow, stunned by the sight. She utterly failed comprehend the cause or the nature of the field until a voice spoke beside her.

"What do you think you are doing?"

Leliana spun on her heel and Morrigan raised a hand, an arc of electricity sparking between two fingertips. It felt as if the blood left her body and Leliana thought she might actually drop to the stone floor of the balcony so weak did she become, with confusion, panic and… relief?

"Morrigan, I," she swayed and took a step backwards. She dropped her bow to her side and shook her head as if to clear it.

With the air of a wary adversary, Morrigan stepped forward again, out on to the balcony. "That field is not going to last forever, Leliana. When it drops, your 'target' will likely start yelling for guards, if he does not collapse to the floor in puddle of his own making first. What are you doing? Why are you not in Val Chevin? And why does Cian keep telling that Aedan is lost and hurt?"

"Cian?"

Had the boy visited Aedan in one of his dreams?

"We do not have time for you to play the stunned ingénue. You forget who I am, I see through your masks, Leliana."

"Morrigan, I did not want to do this, I had no choice…"

"I have no time for your whining. Tell me you are not here to harm my son."

"Cian?" Leliana realised she made little sense by simply repeating the name again, but she could not seem to make her mind work properly. She had crossed into another territory, a place she had never been before, mentally. She had been prepared to take an innocent man's life, against her will, not as an assignment but as a price, a bargain, to save another man. Now that it had not happened, that she had been prevented from following through, her thoughts felt disconnected. On the one hand, she felt an enormous relief, but on the other panic and grief threatened to overwhelm.

"Morrigan, she will kill him. I have no choice."

Turning, she regarded the man within the field, frozen in time, his expression obscured from view behind the slight opacity of the wall of light. But she could imagine his face, the horror, the confusion. And despite this brief reprieve, she could see no way out. Unless…

"Kill who? Leliana," Morrigan sighed and then her head jerked upwards, her eyes widening. "Tsk."

A quiet yell floated across the space between the buildings, cut short by a bolt of lightning that arced through the air and followed by a soft thump, the sound of a body hitting the ground.

Morrigan turned to her once more. "Now are you going to tell me why I just attacked one of Celene's advisors?"

Sensing her time ran out and Morrigan's patience with it, Leliana spoke quickly, a rush of words. "Marjolaine captured us, the night of the ball. She has Aedan; she is torturing him, Morrigan, doing terrible, terrible things to him." Her breath caught and her hands shook, but Leliana forced her emotions aside a moment, stopped thinking about her husband's broken body. "She is working for, or with, Felix Mason. If I do not kill Paul Le Trene, she will kill Aedan."

Morrigan looked stunned. Her face held an expression Leliana had never seen before, no mocking, no derision, not even a shred of pity, merely quiet shock. She recovered quickly, however.

"This is exactly why we should have killed her."

The pity and disdain had returned. Morrigan had been with them that day in Denerim, she had been present when they had confronted Marjolaine. It had been an odd choice to take her, but Leliana had not wanted her dirty laundry aired in front of their entire party and so only she, Aedan, Zevran and Morrigan had made the visit to her former mentor while the others had been left to amuse themselves in the Market District. Aedan had asked Morrigan to accompany them knowing she would keep the details to herself and side with them in a fight if necessary.

Leliana had been relieved, enormously so, when Aedan had asked Marjolaine to just walk away, to leave. In an effort to forget her past, to change her future, she had felt killing Marjolaine would not fit with the plan she had for herself; it would not be a merciful act. Aedan had obviously agreed, but then, Aedan had proved himself a merciful man - until he had been confronted with Rendon Howe. That meeting had changed him forever. He'd not had years in a chantry to get over the deaths of his parents, his nephew, and at the time, the supposed loss of his brother. It had been fresh in his mind and the Arl had taunted Aedan with what he had done to Eleanor and Aedan had snapped, something within him had broken, and he had fallen upon his enemy in his very first berserk rage.

This situation would change her forever as well, Leliana realised. It already had. The feeling of disconnection persisted. She no longer knew herself…

"Leliana, really, you must concentrate. 'Tis a wonder you ever did this professionally."

Morrigan's voice interrupted her thoughts and Leliana blinked slowly, almost sleepily at the witch.

"Morrigan, will you help us, please?"

She could only ask. It was all she had left. If Morrigan refused to help her, Maker have mercy, she would have to…

"As I am your next logical target, I would be a fool to refuse."

Relief threatened to carry her to the floor of the balcony once more. She had not stopped to consider that Morrigan would be her next target and now she did, briefly. Kill Morrigan? As much as had passed between them, Leliana did not think she could have followed through. But then, she had not thought she could kill Paul Le Trene either. Shaking her head, she whispered, "Thank you," and her breath caught.

Morrigan made an impatient and dismissive gesture.

"How did you know to be here?" Leliana indicated the balcony, her and Aedan's room.

Morrigan let out a sharp sigh. "I was a fool to think Cian would have no connection with his father. These dreams of his. He has hounded me for the past two days, and today he approached me in near hysterics." Morrigan gave her a level look. "You must understand, Cian is not usually an over-demonstrative child." She shook her head. "Hysterics. Aedan is lost, Aedan is hurt, something about cake and a whip?"

Leliana felt the blood drain from her face, her body, a second time and she had to steady herself once again. They had whipped him. "Oh." She wanted to collapse.

"Paul will recover soon, I'd rather not hurt him again, as amusing as it is to throw bolts of lightning about the royal palace. We should continue our conversation over there." Morrigan indicated the balcony opposite and began to disrobe.

Leliana watched a moment, shaking her head in confusion. Was any of this real? Perhaps she had actually killed Paul Le Trene and succumbed to an hysterical fit of her own? Morrigan stepped out of her undergarments and paused a moment.

"Would you bring my clothes? Unless it would amuse you to have me confront my counterpart naked?"

The air about her seemed to shimmer and shift. A form leapt from the mist, a giant spider, and it scaled the wall and skittered along the roof until it reached the opposite balcony. The mist obscured the spider and Morrigan reappeared. Leliana put her bow aside and gathered the clothing. Tucking the garments through her belt, she jumped up and caught the guttering with her fingers, swung her legs up and over, clambered onto the roof, and sprinted after her former companion. She dropped lightly onto the Le Trene balcony and handed Morrigan her clothing.

Morrigan waved a hand over the unconscious form of Paul Le Trene and then proceeded to dress once more.

"He will sleep for a time. Let us carry him inside and shut these doors."

They did so, Morrigan at his shoulders, Leliana at his feet. They laid him out on the couch and Morrigan closed the doors. Leliana sank into one of the chairs opposite the couch and gazed about the sitting room in stunned disbelief. A thought occurred.

"Marie?"

"She is not here. Marie only spends her holidays with Paul. She lives with his sister," Morrigan gestured vaguely, "in the countryside." A wistful look crossed her features. "Cian has visited her there, they are… good people."

Leliana blinked in surprise. Morrigan sounded so different when she spoke of her son. She had first noticed it that morning when the three of them had met, but she saw it again now. Everyone changed, she knew that, sometimes only in subtle ways. But she, herself, had found motherhood to be very defining. Obviously it had affected Morrigan too.

Morrigan sat down in the other chair and both of them looked across the low table to regard the slumbering form of Paul Le Trene.

Leliana looked from the couch over to Morrigan, studied the other woman's face, but it had become inscrutable once more.

"Morrigan, thank you."

Morrigan turned her oddly yellow eyes upon her and waved a hand. "Do not thank me yet."

"How did you know to be in our room?"

"I did not, not really. Call it a coincidence if you like. I simply looked for clues. I was at the door to the suite, about to leave, when I heard you enter from the balcony." Morrigan gave her an odd look, one eyebrow raised. "To say your presence surprised me would be an understatement. I watched you," Morrigan dipped her eyes a moment. "I watched you talk to his shirt. It puzzled me, both your actions and the fact that you did not feel my presence. You have always been more perceptive."

Leliana nodded and rubbed at the crease between her brows with two fingers.

"I am not myself."

"Another understatement." Morrigan met her gaze. "But when you pulled out the bow, I stepped forward, just in time it seems." The witch gestured her, indicating it was her turn.

"I do not know where Aedan is being held. I only know the location of the armory where from where I retrieved these weapons, and that if I do not return, they will, if Paul Le Trene does not die, they will…" she could bring herself to say it again. The shock of Morrigan's presence, the brief reprieve, the impossible choices she had to make, all of it struck her at once and Leliana shook with it. She covered her face with her hands and wept. She tried to pull back, she tried to stop the tears, but failed utterly – knowing that the impossible choices still remained and that this reprieve would be short lived at best.

A hand fell upon her shoulder and Leliana looked up in surprise. Morrigan had never voluntarily touched her, or anyone, so far as she could remember.

"Tears will not solve our problems."

Morrigan's tone belied the harshness of her words, however, and Leliana nodded gratefully, taking the interruption as an opportunity to pull herself together.

Morrigan continued. "Leliana, you are a strong woman, and resourceful. I am not without my talents. Tell me all you know and let us make a plan."

They talked for over an hour, proposing ideas, rejecting them, refining them. Leliana grew confident, and then as they poked holes in one plan after another, her shoulders dipped. Finally they hammered out an arrangement and fell silent, both of them regarding one another thoughtfully.

"We have a plan, then."

They had a plan. Leliana knew if they discussed it further they could tear it apart, but she refused to let her thoughts wander in that direction. Instead she gestured Paul Le Trene. "Should we do this now?"

Morrigan seemed about to make a smart remark but then thought the better of it. She nodded.

Leliana slipped one of the finely edged blades from her wrist cuff and laid it on the table. Unfastening the padded flap to her belt pouch she retrieved one of the vials, the poison. She held the small glass bottle for a moment, indecision flooding her. This very poison had been used to subdue Aedan the night she had been kidnapped; it had been on the blades of the rogues found in the palace shortly after Alistair's coronation and just before his wedding. This poison could be deadly, but used properly would induce a coma like state from which the victim might recover. Jean had known how to apply and use just that amount, thankfully. She hoped she did. But if Paul Le Trene did not appear dead, their plan would fail and Aedan would pay the price.

Leliana applied the poison to her blade, calling on all the knowledge Zevran had imparted to her about the campfire. "Sometimes too little is better than too much, and sometimes too little is not enough," he had liked to quip, the ambiguity of the statement tickling his sense of humour. She gestured for Morrigan to dispel the sleep.

"This discussion will take up precious time. 'T'would be easier to apply the poison first," Morrigan suggested.

Leliana regarded her wary ally. "Should he not have a choice?"

"Do you?"

No, she did not have a choice, not really. Did that mean no one else should? Leliana waged war with her conscience again. She had been prepared, not prepared, but able to kill this man. Now she hesitated to poison him in order to save his life. The fact that he was an unwilling participant in their plan tore at her. Surely if they spoke to him he would agree? Leliana shook her head. Would she agree to be poisoned to save the life of his wife, his daughter? She truly could not answer that question. Paul probably would not be able to answer it either and – they did not have enough time to convince him.

Kneeling beside the slumbering body on the couch, Leliana traced a fine line across the inside of his forearm and then sat back.

He stirred and opened his eyes. Morrigan gestured and the eyes drifted shut once more.

Guilt stabbed at her and Leliana blinked rapidly, feeling a simultaneous flush and press of tears. "Paul, I am sorry, so sorry," she whispered to the unconscious man. And she would be, for the rest of her life. It almost felt as if what she did now was worse than outright killing this man. They had tortured him in a way. He had felt the fear of death at least twice this night, and now he lay in an unwilling slumber. These thoughts caused her stomach to flip and roll and Leliana trembled.

"Leliana." Morrigan's tone contained both concern and warning.

Again she pulled herself together. This was only the beginning, in a way. They had a lot further to travel – tonight and over the next few days. She looked up and acknowledged the other woman.

"How long will he remain unconscious?"

Glancing at Paul Leliana pressed her fingers to his throat and nearly fainted at the lack of pulse. After what felt like an eternity she felt a flicker, then nothing again.

"A day? I do not know with any certainty." Crouching down she plucked the dagger from the floor. "You saw the dosage? How I…"

Morrigan shrank back. "No. If need be I will cast sleep upon him until my mana is exhausted. So long as he appears dead for now."

"I must return to my escorts." Leliana cringed. Had they already punished Aedan in her absence?"

"Word of his death will reach Marjolaine before you do, Leliana."

"Morrigan…"

"We are not done yet, Leliana, we have barely begun."

Leliana nodded and stood up. "I don't know when I will return."

"Hopefully it will be before we burn an innocent man upon a funeral pyre."

The journey back to the Marjolaine took nearly the rest of the night. Leliana had to retrieve her bow, tidy her rooms, put away Aedan's shirt. Tempted, so tempted was she to take it with her, but she could not. Instead she folded it reverently, a small smile playing about her lips as she imagined him flicking it out again in a careless gesture, balling it up to stuff into his pack, wrinkling it, ripping it and staining it – as he did all his shirts. Tears dropped and moistened the front of it in two dark stains before she slipped it back into the drawer.

Collecting her bow, Leliana locked the doors behind her and once again swung herself up onto the roof. She descended the palace walls following the exact path she had taken before and collected her cloak. Donning the cloak she moved to the gate and found the guard asleep. She did not pause to thank the Maker, she simply ran.

As she moved through the streets her mind wanted to roam free of Val Royeaux, take her to visit her children, to a happier time with Aedan. She tried to think about Morrigan instead, to consider her motivations and question the trust she had just placed in a woman she did not… trust. Was she a fool to place her life, Aedan's life in Morrigan's hands? Did a bond exist between them only because they had both born children to Aedan? And here, she flushed. Though the years had dulled the pain of his confession and deep down she understood why he had done it, why Morrigan had offered the ritual, it would never be something she could ponder comfortably. Again, it all came down to trust. Leliana trusted Aedan implicitly, in everything he did. He made mistakes, so did she. But his heart, his beautiful heart always meant well, always. She wanted to trust Morrigan, but could not help wondering at the price.

It took circling the neighborhood about the armory three times before she picked out the familiar lane and the back gate such had been her distraction on the way out. She did not have to feign her obvious distress as she dropped into the yard and approached the back door. The dark skinned man melted from the shadow and gave her an odd look.

"You have returned." His tone almost made the statement a question.

"I have."

"It is done then?"

"Save your questions for your mistress," Leliana snapped, tired, frustrated and nervous.

He opened the door and the traversed the hallway to the armory once more. The elven woman watched as Leliana divested herself of all six daggers, the bow, the quiver of arrows, two bottles of poison and two sets of thieves' tools. She missed the sleight of hand, that replaced the same tools twice and the same bottle twice. Of all Leliana's skills, her nimble fingers might count as her greatest and now they did something other than pick a pocket, they sought to help save someone's life.

On the journey back to Marjolaine's she cooperated in every way, allowing her movements to appear listless and defeated. She had a bet to place now, a gamble to see through. She bartered Aedan's fate against Marjolaine's pride and insanity.

Marjolaine had obviously heard the news and when Leliana entered the room her former mentor looked upon her with a familiar expression. Pride.

"You have returned," she practically purred and Leliana knew the words held a double meaning. She simply nodded in acknowledgement.

Of course the idea of Leliana attending her husband dressed as an assassin tickled Marjolaine's twisted sense of humour and so without further ado, she was given her 'reward' and allowed to feed her husband, tend his wounds. In fact, Marjolaine had the tray waiting for her. In retrospect, this should not have surprised her, Marjolaine had always been swift to reward… and punish.

Bastian let her into Aedan's cell and set a lantern on the floor. He returned a moment later with a bucket of water.

"If you are feeling lustful, I would take care of that first. Unless you prefer an audience?" The jailor laughed uproariously at his joke and closed and locked the door behind her.

She barely recognised the man towards the rear of the cell, lying on his side, turned away from her. He looked thin, broken and sick. Her legs shook, her hands shook, her breath caught and she very nearly fainted. Carefully setting down the tray, she crawled forward on her hands and knees and stopped behind him, bringing her hands to her mouth in horror. His back, oh Maker, his back. It sickened her, not just the sight of his wounds, filthy, inflamed, crusted and black, but the memory of it, the sound, the fire, the parting of skin, and the time it took for her to heal, the scars.

She put a hand on his shoulder and watched as he shivered and mumbled. His skin felt hot and dry, fevered.

"Oh, Aedan."

She didn't want to spend their time together in tears; she wanted to be strong for him. She reached for her mantra: She would not cry, she would be strong. But though Leliana felt she remained strong as she tended him, she could not help her tears.

* * *

_A/N: This chapter is in two parts as it is over long. There were so many details I wanted to cover, such as the preceding conversation between Leliana and Morrigan. So Leliana's point of view will feature twice in a row. Part two: __Reprisal__, will be up tomorrow._


	29. Reprisal

Reprisal

Leliana felt utterly drained as Bastian led her back to her room. If had tried to molest her, she would not have had the strength to fend him off. Physically she felt fit, mentally, she felt ready to collapse. Had she adequately prepared Aedan for the worst? She had hoped to find him in better condition and his fevered state had both saddened and distressed her. She had hoped to outline more of her plans to him, have him in a state of readiness. When she next returned to report her supposed failure to kill Morrigan, Aedan would be punished; of this she had no doubt. Would he have the strength to overwhelm Bastian? Leliana had hesitated to tell him to use his anger. She knew he warred with himself over it, knew that he feared himself. But given his weakened condition, his next punishment would likely have broken him. She could only hope that encouraging him use a berserk rage did not similarly break him in mind as well as body.

Of course, Marjolaine waited in her room and the sight of the woman cut off any further thought as hatred swelled within. Leliana had to put every ounce of strength and will she had into not surging forward and wrapping her fingers about Marjolaine's throat. She could kill her for what she had done to Aedan's back alone, everything else notwithstanding.

Marjolaine misinterpreted the flare in her eyes.

"The fire has properly returned to your eyes, my dear. You look as you used to, you look almost like my Leliana again."

She could not help the low sound that fell from her lips then and clamped her mouth shut over it and yanked her arms from Bastian's grasp. Turning to look at the jailor she barely resisted growling. Leliana returned her gaze to the woman she so despised and gestured her leather armor. "What is next?"

Marjolaine raised a brow and chuckled. "So eager! You know who your next target is then?"

Leliana gave a curt nod.

"You have not forgiven your husband his infidelity then, interesting."

Leliana shrugged. How could she answer such a comment and not inflame further amusement or vindictiveness from her captor? Marjolaine stepped forward, bringing herself within reach and Leliana grappled with her will, urged herself not to attack. She took a deep breath instead as the woman circled her.

"I honestly did not expect you to return, Leliana. Now that you have, I find myself unwilling to part with you again so soon. Do you remember how I used to reward you?"

"If you think I would willingly allow…"

"Oh, you need not be a willing participant."

Maker, no! Hadn't she been through enough? Nausea and dizziness threatened to overwhelm her and through a fog of silence that seemed to clog her ears she heard a rumble of laughter behind her. Bastian. Leliana edged herself away from Marjolaine's circling presence, only belated realising her instinctive reaction would only arouse her former mentor. She clearly remembered Marjolaine's sexual proclivities; many of which she had not shared.

Marjolaine made a clucking sound with her tongue and turned to face her, tilting her head. "And here I thought allowing you to tend your husband would improve your mood."

Leliana snapped, "Allowing me to wash and tend a broken man was supposed to improve my mood?" She remembered his fevered ramblings: Bastian, bastard. Marjolaine, mad.

"Would you rather I focused my attentions on him?" Marjolaine's brow wrinkled in distaste. "He is hardly in any condition to properly please me, but sometimes the journey is more interesting than the destination."

Leliana swallowed. She did not want to see her husband in the hands of this woman, not ever. It would be the worst sort of torture for both of them. She also could not allow them to disturb his rest, he needed it so badly. He would only have that one chance to help himself if her plan failed.

"Marjolaine, please…"

"You forget I enjoy hearing you beg. Do you think he would enjoy hearing you do so?"

Leliana flushed with fury and Marjolaine applauded her. Closing her eyes in the face of her enemy, Leliana once sought her strength, her will, she reached for the place within that Marjolaine could never touch. She said his name in her mind, kept it to herself. She touched the faces of her children, she mentally reviewed her plan. She stoked her hatred of this mad woman and she straightened her spine. Fingers caressed her cheek and she flinched. She did not want to do this, she wanted to fight and kick and scream, much as she imagined Aedan might do every time Bastian approached him.

"You are so tense."

Opening her eyes, Leliana gave her former mentor an incredulous look. "You are mad," she whispered.

Marjolaine threw back her head and laughed. "I shall take that as a compliment!" Running her eyes over the leathers she wore Marjolaine wrinkled her nose and turned her head. "Bastian, you are dismissed."

Turning back to her, Marjolaine reached out to begin unfastening the dusky leather armour. "Shall I help you wash, or would you prefer I simply watched?"

##

Leliana opened her eyes and blinked into the darkness. For a moment she nearly forgot where she was and then the memory swept back through her mind in a sudden rush and her breath caught. Instinct had her rolling to her side but her stretched and bound arms prevented more than a shift of her shoulders, the rolling of her head. Tentatively she moved her ankles. They were no longer bound. Tears crept down her cheeks then and her chest rose in a broken sob. A fit of sorts took her then and Leliana tugged uselessly upon her wrists, desperate to curl in upon herself and hide. Her furious movement soothed her for a few moments, allowed her mind to do something other than touch upon what she had endured at Marjolaine's hands before she'd been allowed to sleep.

As the fit left her Leliana almost felt hollow, empty, as if nothing else could move her ever again. She lay in her stupor for an unknown amount of time and only stirred when the door to the room opened and the elven woman, Claire, entered with a lantern and a tray. Setting them down the woman moved to the bed and stood there a moment, her eyes roaming over Leliana's nakedness. She smirked.

"So you were her favourite, hm?" Claire trailed a finger along Leliana's arm, starting at her shoulder and moving towards her wrist.

Leliana rolled her head away as nimble fingers began to undo the cord that held her wrist against the bedpost. The hollowness persisted and she could find no words to either refute or taunt. She simply wanted to forget. As the bond on her arm loosened she rolled over, curling in upon herself as she'd wanted to do since awakening, and closed her eyes. She left them closed and remained silent as Claire loosened her other wrist and moved back towards the door.

"The mistress will attend you shortly. I would advise you to dress yourself before then or your breakfast will cool and no one likes cold porridge."

With a chuckle, the woman left and closed the door behind her. Leliana followed her advice.

##

Once again her blindfold fell away to display the armory and Leliana glanced about the room in abject misery. The walk to this house had seemed as interminable as the night before and she had been unable to set her mind to the task to tracing her steps and committing their path to memory. She had been torn between too many sorrows – what Marjolaine had done to her, to Aedan's, the poisoning of Paul Le Trene and her conversation with Morrigan. Would the witch be waiting for her signal or would palace guards sweep down upon her?

With automatic movements, Leliana armed herself as she had previously, except for a bow, and turned to indicate her readiness. Her escorts stepped back as before and she made her way down the hall to the rear yard. The dark skinned man opened his mouth to give instruction and Leliana raised a hand, silencing him with the gesture, and vaulted over the wall before he could reach the gate. She landed soundlessly in the laneway and took off along the shadowed cobbles, hoping the movement would serve to keep her mind blank and her thoughts at bay. It did not.

As soon as she had put two corners between herself and the house, Leliana's breath caught in a choked gasp and she sank to knees in the shadow of a wall and wrapped her arms about herself. Her pain differed from the night before. She no longer warred with the desire to run free, saving herself instead of her love. Instead she contemplated a bleak future – herself and Aedan as Marjolaine's playthings. How long could either of them endure?

Leliana knew that if their plan failed, either because Morrigan had second thoughts or failed to infiltrate Marjolaine's stronghold then all was lost. She could not conscience a life such as this. She would rather not live at all.

Her mind reached for the chant tentatively, she thought it might not come, that the words would fail her in the face of all that she had done, but they did not. The refrains she sought flooded her mind and with them came an ease she had not expected – partly an automatic response to the repetitive cadences and partly relief that she could still find the words. Scrubbing at her cheeks, Leliana dried her tears and reached for her will. She found it, again surprising herself. Where did this strength come from? How long would it last? Leliana stood up and took a single step forward, feeling as if the simple movement marked the turning of the rest of her life. Either Morrigan would be there or she wouldn't. Tonight would decide her and Aedan's fates, one way or another.

Moving to the agreed upon place, a shadowed public garden near the palace, Leliana found Morrigan waiting for her.

"You are here."

"So are you."

Relief and hope weakened her for a moment and Leliana simply stared at the other woman in quiet wonder.

Morrigan broke the silence. "You do not look… well. Have the circumstances changed?"

Leliana shook her head. "No." What use to tell Morrigan what had transpired between last night and this?

"Aedan is…?"

"Alive, yes." Just barely.

Morrigan nodded and seemed about to say more, but stopped. Instead she gestured the city. "Shall we?"

"Morrigan, if we fail, if," Leliana blinked and studied her feet. "Thank you. I will owe you a debt."

"You fear my price."

"No…"

Morrigan's brows drew together. "Leliana, if not you, then another would have come for me. Perhaps the debt has already been paid."

Both women stood in silence a few moments longer and Leliana thought about her children, about those she would leave behind if they failed. No doubt Morrigan thought the same.

Again, Morrigan broke their silence. "Come, let us tarry no longer."

They walked in silence towards the armory. Leliana pointed out the house before they got there and Morrigan nodded. She began to slip out of her dress and she stuffed it into a small bundle. The familiar mist swirled about her and when it evaporated, a large bird stood beside her. Leliana had never seen the witch take this form before and she blinked softly in astonishment before crouching to collect the bundle and securing it firmly to one of the legs. Morrigan launched herself into the air and Leliana watched her for a moment before returning to her senses.

The dark skinned man greeted her with some surprise. "So soon?"

Leliana ignored him.

Blindfolded and hooded, Leliana had no idea if Morrigan successfully followed their path back to Marjolaine's stronghold. Instead of worry or fret, she prayed. She cleared her mind of all but the chant and repeated her favourite passages in order, letting her escorts lead her along.

Once inside Marjolaine's house, the blindfold and cloak were removed and Leliana drew in a deep breath. It was time. The dark skinned man had already disappeared down the hallway and only Claire remained behind her. Should she take Claire now? Did Morrigan already wait outside? As she debated, the elven woman nudged her forward and Marjolaine stepped out of another door, stopped and blinked in surprise.

"You are a bigger fool than I took you for if you have willingly returned to admit failure."

"Perhaps I have not failed. Perhaps Morrigan already lays dead."

"You forget again who taught you everything. You cannot lie to me. Bastian!"

The jailor appeared the end of the hallway.

"Break him."

"No!" Leliana prepared to throw herself at Marjolaine, but Claire grabbed her from behind, her fingers vice-like about her upper arms. Leliana jerked against the hold, and kicked backwards, feeling her heel connect against the elven woman's leg. Claire gasped and moved backwards, but did not loosen her hold.

"You dare?" Marjolaine growled and jerked her head at Claire. "Bring her here."

Leliana kicked backwards again and tried to spin and jerk against the woman's hold once more, her struggles now fueled with all of the pent up rage she'd been harboring over the past few days. This was the end game, perhaps she had started it too early, but now it had begun. Leliana began to fight for her life. Her struggles ceased when a slender dagger pricked the skin over her collar bone. It may have slit her throat; Marjolaine had not lost her deft touch.

"Why have you returned? What is your plan?"

"To kill you." Leliana spat.

Before Marjolaine could react, she threw herself sideways, away from the dagger, feeling it score a line across her flesh. She landed on the ground in a tangled heap with the elven woman who had not expected the move. Kicking out with her top leg, Leliana caught Marjolaine in the knee. Marjolaine snarled and reached down to grab at her and Leliana attempted to kick her again. Claire still had hold of her arms, and Maker her grip was strong! Writhing and twisting, Leliana felt the woman beneath her gasp and then heard a thump, a whimper and the woman lay still, her hands falling from her arms. The cold night air rushed into the hallway and Marjolaine flew away from her, a crackle of lightning sparking from her breast.

Morrigan had arrived.

Leliana pulled herself to her feet and turned to face her companion.

"You made it."

"Obviously."

A yell caught their attention and raising her hand Morrigan sent another bolt of lightning down the hallway and in the enclosed space Leliana smelled first the ozone and then the scorched wallpaper and rug. The dark skinned man dropped to the floor, but his companion did not. Reaching down to pluck the dagger from Marjolaine's limp hand, Leliana ran towards him. Their blades clashed as he parried her quick strike, but Leliana ignored that had and instead spun in to him, catching him in the ribs with her elbow. She drove her heel down on top of his foot, a distracting move, and then cracked her elbow upwards, catching him beneath the chin. His head snapped backwards. His other hand grasped at her and the dagger glanced off the shoulder of her leather armor. Leliana stepped forward and kicked back as she moved away, her boot catching him just below the belt. He dropped. She stepped over him and he grasped her ankle. Lightning sizzled once more and his hand fell loose.

Morrigan stepped to her side and gestured the four bodies in the hallway. "They will rouse, shall we…"

A look of surprise registered on her face and she turned. A thrown knife had buried itself in her back and Marjolaine stood behind them. Claiming another blade from the man she stood over, Leliana ran at her former mentor with both daggers held before her. Marjolaine had similarly armed herself though her blades were shorter.

Marjolaine raised her weapons in a perfect parry and Leliana attempted a cross sweep, flicking her blades apart and stepping inside her guard. Leliana moved in closer, Marjolaine's blades skimming to either side of her leather clad hips and wrapped her arms about the woman's shoulders in a hug, knowing the woman's arms would be pinned and useless. She kneed her in the groin, feeling rush of air as Marjolaine let out a sharp breath of pain. A foot glanced off of Leliana's shin and Marjolaine attempted to turn within the circle of her arms.

Leliana could hear Morrigan throwing spells behind her; felt the wind of a cone of cold as the witch froze a section of the hallway.

"There are more of them behind, I cannot hold them for long," Morrigan called out.

Leliana could only grunt in response as she fought Marjolaine. They were locked together in a grapple and Leliana had to make a choice and she did. She rocked her face forward, her forehead connecting with Marjolaine's nose. The woman fell back with a cry and a spray of blood and Leliana ignored the pain throbbing across her forehead from the impact. She kicked out, catching Marjolaine in the thigh, and the other woman staggered back, but did not fall. Instead, she raised her blades and came forward again.

Leliana parried the strike and slipped a dagger through Marjolaine's guard, feeling it glance off a rib, she immediately swiped back with the same blade, cutting the woman's side. Marjolaine's blades flurried and Leliana felt the leather of her armour start to give beneath the furious biting of her opponent's blades and so she kicked out again, this time managing to knock Marjolaine back. She leapt after her and thrust forward with both daggers, both points finding a home within the woman's breast. Marjolaine's eyes widened and she flailed with her blades, one slicing Leliana's arm, the other catching a rivet and flipping from weakened fingers to fall to the floor. The woman's knees buckled and blood bubbled from her lips and Leliana twisted her blades, a malicious move, a totally unnecessary move, one intended only to cause pain. Tugging on both daggers, Leliana pulled free of Marjolaine then, and drew the edge of one blade around her former mentor's throat. Likely the woman would not have survived the wounds in her chest, but Leliana wanted her dead, not dying, dead. Blood immediately soaked the front of Marjolaine's dress and Leliana kicked out with her boot a final time, knocking the woman backwards and onto the floor. The fury within her roared in triumph and the pulse of her blood sang in her ears as her former mentor, her tormenter, writhed before her, grasping at her throat, bloodied fingers slipping and sticking in an attempt to stop the life ebbing from her wound. Leliana stood there watching Marjolaine bleed out and die until a hand fell upon her shoulder.

"Leliana."

Blinking as if she'd woken from a trance, Leliana turned to face Morrigan. The witch had blood at the corner of her mouth and her own dress was soaked with it.

"Morrigan, are you hurt?"

"'T'was just a nick, I healed it. Quickly, I shall cone of cold the hall again, strike as many as you can."

Leliana nodded and they turned to face the end of the hallway. Two people stood frozen there and two crumpled piles of ice clustered about their feet. Another man ran about in a daze, moaning and clawing at his face one moment and the air about him the next, gripped in the horror of a nightmare. The cone of cold dissipated and two people advanced upon them. Morrigan let loose another blast and Leliana flew forward, blades extended, seeking critical moves that would shatter her frozen targets. As she flurried the first, she noted in an almost detached way how the blood of her daggers coloured the frozen flesh of her opponent. Rather than shatter she vented her fury, cutting the body before her down in a series of moves, leaving nothing but a punctured corpse in her wake. Dancing behind the second target, she crossed her blades and sliced at the neck, and then plunged a dagger deep into the back, seeking the heart. She left the blade lodged in the frozen flesh and picked another up off the floor and spun to flurry at the moaning man, killing him quickly and kicking him aside.

Morrigan moved to her side. "Which way to the dungeon?"

Leliana stepped to the end of the hall which formed a t-junction. In one direction lay her room, in the other the door to the stairs down. She nodded towards that door and took off at a jog. Another door flew open and three more of Marjolaine's apprentices burst through. One of them stopped short against the wall, arms thrown up and face caught in a rictus of horror as a crushing prison enveloped him. The other two advanced and Leliana chose one, lifting her blades once more to engage. She heard and smelt the telltale odor of lightning as Morrigan dealt with the other. Again daggers clashed and parried, but this young apprentice lacked both Leliana's skill and fury. She fell before Leliana's first flurry and did not rise again.

"How many more of these fools plan to throw themselves at us?"

"I do not know, Morrigan."

They made for the door of the dungeon and Morrigan turned about and set a force field over the crushing prison, the resultant combination forming a shock wave that killed her prisoner and rippled off of the walls of the narrow hallway in a rush of sound and air. Leliana felt herself hit the door behind her, Morrigan next to her and when the wave fell away, another body fell forward out of the other open door.

No one approached them on the stairs to the dungeon and the grill at the bottom remained locked. Leliana pulled the tool from the shoulder seam of her leathers and picked the lock and they pushed through into the eerie silence of the stone hallway. She could hear nothing and it felt as if her heart might stop. Morrigan collected the lantern that sat at the empty guard station and they walked towards Aedan's cell. The door stood open and when Morrigan raised the lantern, the weak light shone through, playing over three bodies on the floor, one of them mostly naked.

Leliana dropped her blades and with an inhuman cry ran forward and dropped to her knees next to Aedan. He lay on his back, one of his eyes swollen shut, the other simply closed. His nose had bled again and blood flecked across his face and shoulders where livid marks stood out against his pale skin. In fact, blood spattered across much of his body and his hands particularly looked battered, bruised and filthy with it. In addition to his older, infected wounds, he had new slices across his skin, everywhere. Bruises, everywhere. He looked so awful, grey and lifeless that Leliana almost did not dare hope that he lived. Pressing her fingers to his neck she prayed and was rewarded with a faint and fluttering pulse.

"He is alive," she whispered.

Morrigan crouched next to her and immediately sent a healing spell into him, one targeted at his head. He did not rouse, but the swelling about his eye and nose receded somewhat and his pulse strengthened.

Morrigan then looked over his body and shook her head. "He is stubborn, I will give him that."

The adrenaline and fury that had sustained her to this point left with a rush and Leliana sagged. She went to grip one of Aedan's hands, but refrained after seeing the shape it was in. Her shoulders shook and when she went to draw breath, it caught in her throat in the most awful kind of strangled sob. Leliana fell sideways then and wrapped her arm gingerly around her broken husband and wept against his bloodied shoulder.

"Leliana, we should…"

"Can you help him?" she sounded like a little girl, her voice echoing thinly from the dark stone walls

Morrigan nodded. "I have but one heal spell, it will take a while to get him even on his feet."

Leliana glanced at his feet then and saw that one foot looked horribly broken. Morrigan followed the direction of her gaze.

"I will start there." Looking up, Morrigan added, "Will you check the other two? We should make sure Aedan is not the only one who only appears dead."

Leliana did not want to leave his side; she did not want to not be touching Aedan. It almost felt as if she let him go his heart might stop beating and she would lose him forever. It felt as if her heart might stop beating. With a small sob she finally sat up and with an effort she withdrew her hands from him.

Crawling towards the first body she recognised Andre. The knife sticking out of his chest indicated he might be dead and Leliana leaned forward to check for a pulse. She could not help but notice that the lightweight leather armour that covered his chest was punctured and lacerated, soaked in blood. He had suffered repeated wounds, any number of them probably fatal. A shiver took her spine and she did not want to ponder the fury behind the hand that had wielded the short dagger.

Bastian lay a short distance away and his purpled face told his condition. He had a length of chain wrapped about his neck and the fingers of one hand were caught in the links. He was bloodied, battered and quite dead.

Leliana crept back to Aedan's side. Morrigan still fussed by his foot, muttering and turning it gently this way and that. Sitting cross-legged on the cold stone, Leliana put her hand upon him again, needing to touch his skin, seeking a connection. Her eyes roved his body, his horrible wounds, and the pain of it all clutched at her, superseded the collection of cuts and bruises she had sustained on her way to the dungeon. She wanted him to open his eyes, they had always been her favourite feature, she could always tell how he felt and what he thought by looking into their cool blue depths. But as much as she wanted to feel his gaze, she also feared what she might see. He would not be the same man, she knew that; he would have changed with this, the torture, the rage, just as she had been changed before and most likely would be again now. He would need her strength more than ever, and as she would need his. Leaning forward, she brushed her lips past his temple and whispered against his ear, "I am here for you."

Closing her eyes, she rested her forehead to his and her lips continued to move as the chant filled her mind. "I shall embrace the light…"


	30. Take My Hand

Take My Hand

Aedan felt he had been wandering the misty landscape for hours, days even. He would occasionally recognise a landmark or a scene and step towards it, only to have it dissolve before his eyes. Odd sounds broke the silence about him; a yell, a whimper, a dragging – metal on concrete, the whisper of blades being unsheathed, the call of a bird, voices talking quietly together. He never found the sources of these sounds though he looked, and when he called out to them, the voices, no one answered.

Through the haze that obscured his vision, Aedan sensed the darkspawn approach, the roiling in his gut, the prickle at the back of his neck, and he reached for his blades. They were not there. He looked down and saw he stood in nothing but his underwear at that his body appeared horribly abused. As he noticed each wound he felt it, the combined aches and pains nearly taking his breath away. Dread gripped him; the enemy approached and he had no way to defend himself and he had already sustained terrible wounds. Searching his memory, Aedan tried to account for his state, but retrieved only vague glimpses of a laughing face and the sound of something whistling and snapping. A word echoed in his mind, "Sunshine."

The darkspawn fell upon him and Aedan tore at them with his bare hands. It hurt, his hands felt broken and his fingers refused to grasp at the armoured forms. A blade rushed towards him and he ducked, it caught him in the side, cracking into his ribs. He turned his fists into bludgeoning tools, flailing away at his enemies in a rising state of panic as he realised how little effect he had upon them. An axe appeared out of the mist and glanced off of his other side, the force of the blow driving the air from his lungs. Raising his foot he attempted to kick a creature away from himself, considering for the very first time the option of fleeing. This in itself caused him to pause; he never backed down from a fight or walked away from an enemy. His foot connected and a sharp pain travelled up the length of his leg and his resultant cry echoed oddly in his ears before being sucked away from him, leaving him in a silent, empty swirl of mist.

Aedan turned about, looking for the darkspawn and saw a hand instead, a small hand followed by an arm and then the body of a boy.

"Take my hand, Aedan."

"Cian?"

He reached for the boy's hand tentatively, expecting him to disappear. He did not, and neither did the gentle warmth of his fingers cause pain to his broken hands.

"Where are we going?"

"Home."

"I cannot, I have to kill the darkspawn."

Aedan turned about, looking for the foul creatures. Reaching for the taint he felt a tenuous thread in the distance and, letting go of Cian's hand, he walked toward it.

"Aedan!"

Aedan ignored the voice, his task had not been completed, he could feel the taint still. The darkspawn seemed to move away as fast as he approached and he broke into a run in an attempt to catch them. The movement caught his foot and jarred all of his injuries once more and he groaned aloud in pain as he moved.

A voice whispered, "Do not let him put any weight on that foot yet."

It sounded like Morrigan and Aedan stopped and turned around, looking for her. He blinked and the mist seemed to fade only to be replaced by flickering lantern light that danced from dank stone walls. His head spun and he felt as if he might lose his balance and so he reached out with both hands, grasping, feeling leather, cloth, a shoulder and he leaned there, another groan echoing about his ears. He put his foot down to a feminine chorus of "No!"

"Leli?"

He fell, he felt hands grasping at him as he fell, plucking at his skin, catching his arms, his head lolled back and the mist swirled in once more, obscuring the dimly lit room and robbing him of his companions. He experienced a moment of confusion where he did not know if he stood or sat and then the fog parted and he saw that he stood still, but had returned to the realm of his… dreams? His heart pounded and a sense of urgency propelled him forward. He had to find his wife, he had to help her. Panic twisted his gut and fear caused his blood to pulse and ring in his ears as he looked for her. He ran, heedless of the pain in his foot, the pain everywhere, and turned on his heel, looking about, calling out her name.

"Leli!"

No answer met his ears but the yells, whimpers and metallic dragging he'd heard before and his shoulders sagged in sorrow. He'd lost her again, but the thought that she might be here somewhere gave him purpose. He needed her, she needed him. She had his heart! His chest constricted and it hurt, and his breath caught in his throat. He'd lost her again. He began to look for her, calling out occasionally, his voice always being swallowed by the mist, oddly muted, frustratingly quiet not matter how loudly he yelled.

"Take my hand, Daddy."

Rory stood there and Aedan blinked stupidly at his little boy. More emotion hit him then, a great swell of it that nearly knocked him from his feet. He swayed and then knelt down beside his son and wrapped him in his arms.

"Rory."

"Come home, Daddy."

"I can't find Leli."

Rory made small sounds and Aedan leaned back to contemplate his son's face. The little boy looked confused and he had turned his head and spoke over his shoulder. Aedan could not hear the words. The weight of the boy in his arms began to lighten, become insubstantial and Aedan clutched at Rory as he disappeared, grasping at mist and air, calling out, "No!"

After his son disappeared, Aedan growled and threw himself to his feet; he pounded his thighs with his battered hands, wincing at the pain. While a part of him realised he would not find either of them another part wanted to try. He ran and searched and yelled. Darkspawn taunted him again and he chased them. Shadows flitted past the periphery of his vision and he turned after them.

The ground began to rise beneath him and his vision narrowed and darkened; he ascended a staircase. He could use his foot now, though it felt clumsy, numb and the fear of the pain made him hiss every time it touched a stone step. Weakness caused his limbs to tremble and shake and the rest of his body ached and protested the activity, but a soft voice compelled him forward and so he persevered. He climbed the stairs for a long time and every now and then he would become aware that the owner of the voice helped him, that he leaned heavily on this someone. He did not know who it was; he trusted this person not to drop him and they did not. His vision brightened as they pushed through a doorway and the fog seemed to fall away as he gazed upon a hallway littered with bodies.

The hallway looked impossibly long and seemed to narrow at the end, the far reaches of hit dark and inaccessible. Aedan closed his eyes and sagged, knowing he had neither the energy nor the strength to make it that far and as his willingness slipped away, so did his awareness. The mist claimed him once more.

He was at the beginning of his nightmare again, the yells, the whimpers, the dragging of metal across stone, the whispered taunt, "Sunshine," this hiss and flick, the crack that caused him to flinch, the snap of his bones, the fire upon his back, the heated pulse of fever throughout his blood. Fatigue pulled at him now and Aedan prepared to give in, he was tired, he wanted to lie down and sleep now, he didn't have the strength to fight anymore. It was time to go.

"Take my hand, Aedan."

Cian stood there again and Aedan turned away, resolutely ignoring what he suspected as a vision. He started to move in the opposite direction.

"Aedan!" the boy called out after him before following.

He stopped and turned to face Cian. "You're not real. Leave me alone. I'm tired."

"You cannot sleep yet, you have to come home."

Home, he really did want to go home. Tentatively he reached for Cian's hand and warm fingers brushed his. Aedan tried to conjure a picture of home and many conflicting images filled his mind. A forested estate full of rooms he did not feel comfortable in – another man's presence pervaded the atmosphere there. A keep full of soldiers, no, Wardens, and a room he liked quite well. His son kept a room next door… he had another son? Aedan glanced at the boy holding his hand in sudden confusion. Not this one, not the other one, but a young man.

His mind turned next to the Royal Palace and he easily pictured his room there, the one he shared with his wife and children. Aedan gasped as he remembered Leliana again, and the memories of her hurt more than the pain of all his wounds and Aedan stumbled and let go of Cian's hand.

"Aedan! Take my hand!"

But he could not; he fell to his knees instead, the fog and mist parting before him in a swirl of movement, obscuring the boy from view. He could not draw breath and his heart hammered in his chest.

"Leli."

Where was Leliana? Pushing himself to his feet, Aedan began to run blindly, waving his hands in an effort to cast aside the perpetual haze. The taint caught him again; the stench of it filled his nostrils and Aedan felt fear. He could not fight them as he was, unclothed, unarmed and wounded. He spun about looking for them, listening for the grunts of genlocks and hurlocks, and caught sight of some darker shadows moving ahead. They were dragging something, someone, a person with red hair. Aedan ran to them, his ribs digging and grating, the skin of his back feeling like fire. He could not draw enough air in, his nose felt blocked and his vision swam as weakness threatened to take him, dizziness. Yet he pushed himself forward, desperate to save his wife.

It seemed as if he would never catch them, he could not close the distance, no matter how hard he tried, and his already short breath became ragged and black spots danced before his eyes. Aedan reached within himself for more, for strength for… anger? But it wasn't there; he touched only a hollowness, an empty well. It seemed he did not have an endless supply and he'd used it on something else. Gasping, he threw himself forward with everything he had and felt his fingers graze her ankle. He closed them painfully about her slender leg and dragged himself forward across the ground, ignoring the protests of his skin, bruises, cuts. He crawled up next to her only to discover he'd not found his wife after all. Luke lay there instead, a horrible wound at his throat, his life blood pooled about him on the ground.

Here was his other son, the one who lived with him at the Keep. Aedan gasped as his heart seemed to tear in two and he collapsed on top of the body, heedless of his wounds, and wrapped his arms about his lifeless son. He felt his chest heave in a sob and his voice sounded hoarse and cracked.

"I'm sorry, Luke, I'm sorry."

He repeated the words over and over, but the grief would not go away, it only seemed to swell with each utterance until he could barely draw breath.

"Take my hand, Aedan."

"Go away."

Aedan hugged Luke more tightly and refused to part with him.

"You have to let go."

"No."

Aedan refused to look at the small boy whose voice he recognised. He would not go with Cian, he would stay with Luke.

"Daddy?" Grace's voice.

Looking up, Aedan saw his daughter and thought of reaching for her, but could not seem to let go of Luke.

"Grace."

"Come home, Daddy."

Home. Aedan tried to bring to mind the rooms at the palace, to picture where he had to go, but the image refused to form. Instead he saw a room that at first seemed unfamiliar. As he tried to recall it, the room seemed to form around him and slowly recognition dawned. He was _home_, at Highever. Relief washed through him for the first time in… he did not know how long he had wandered the mist. He was home. His heart swelled and felt full again. Familiar sounds tickled his ears and scents caught his nose. The sun shone through his window and suddenly his life felt full of possibilities. He wanted to see Fergus, be with his brother! He stood and moved and tripped over something on the floor, a body -his body.

As he catalogued the horrible wounds that marked his filthy and wasted form, Aedan fought the twin urges to vomit and pass out. He crouched down beside the body, himself, and felt for a pulse, not thinking to question why he lay on the floor at the same time as he crouched. No flicker of life met his fingers and Aedan almost felt relief. He did not want to know what it would feel like to be so wounded; he did not want to wake from that sleep.

"Take my hand, Aedan."

Cian stood before him again and Aedan looked blankly at the boy for a moment, confusing him with himself, they looked so alike.

"I cannot, I'm dead."

He gestured the body on the floor and as they both turned to look at it, it changed. Luke lay there and the cycle started all over, the grief, the refusal to let go, the repeated entreaties from people he both knew and didn't know, all of them urging him to come home. Though he realised he'd done this over and over, without beginning and now seemingly without end, Aedan did not know how to stop. The yelling and whispering, chasing darkspawn, running from darkspawn, failing to save Leliana, failing to find Rory, talking to Grace. At one point he handed her off as a babe, gave her to the tainted man in an effort to save Luke's life. The ghoul killed them both then and he found himself lying on the floor of his room in Highever again, clutching his dead son, crying against the blood soaked shirt, kissing the cold cheeks and closed eyes.

"Take my hand."

"No. Go away. Leave me alone."

"You have to come home."

"I am home!"

The anger had finally returned. It curled inside him, swift and strong, taking his breath away and making his limbs tremble and shake. Never had rage consumed him so quickly and raising his head from Luke's shirt he snarled at the boy standing before him.

"Leave me alone! I'm sick of failing, I'm done trying. I cannot save any of them!"

Casting his eyes across Luke's still form, Aedan felt the fury envelope him like a fog, his ears rang, his vision blurred and his heart pounded erratically in his chest. Never had he felt so angry and the memories of all of his failures rose up to batter at him, starting with the one he kept buried so deeply he'd almost forgotten it: His parents sitting in the pantry at Highever, watching him retreat through the hole with Duncan. Aedan howled at the image and then he was there, trying to crawl back through the hole, trying to grasp his mother's hand, his father's hand, he struggled with Duncan, kicking him, pushing him away.

"Don't take me away, don't take them away from me!"

But he was dragged away from them, through the hole, kicking and screaming in rage, frustration and sorrow.

"I'm sorry," he cried after them, watching their faces as they watched him go. "I'm sorry."

He remembered waking up in this room, his room at Highever, and realising Leliana had been taken away from him. Shadowed forms surrounded him and made concerned noises and he thrashed against the bed, desperate to get up, to follow his new wife. But they would not let him, they told him if he did not calm down his heart would stop, and he could feel they were right, he could feel the rage and panic overwhelming him. His ears rang and his vision blurred and the time slip began, voices stretching and contracting, a numbness settling into his limbs, a lack of sensation and awareness. He tried to fight it but could not because he had become restrained. He no longer lay in a bed in Highever, he hung from a wall and iron cuffs bit into his wrists.

Jerking and bucking against the wall and the chains, Aedan yelled and screamed. He could not save Leliana like this. He would lose her forever. The realization that every movement damaged him as much as the cruel bite of the whip, the sharp tap of the staff, did not dissuade him from his frenzy. He was too far gone, too deep into the fit and he could not pull back. He called for Philippe but received no answer. Then he felt the chains in his hands, saw a face purpling beneath it, felt the rain of blows across his skin weaken as the man beneath writhed, called him 'Sunshine', and then finally died with an exhalation of foul breath. He killed another man, one he did not know, simply because he was in the way, prevented him from reaching Leliana. He might have killed more, many more, but the strength lent him by the fit left his limbs and he fell, kept falling and this new and horrible cycle of failure began again.

"Take my hand, Aedan."

"Philippe? Help me..."

"Let go."

He looked down and saw Luke beneath him once more, his biggest failure. It was too much, the pain, the sorrow, the rage and the regret overflowed and it felt like he might break apart. And so he did. He broke. It hurt, but he let it happen, he let himself tear. He gave in to it. Finally, he'd had enough.

"I can't do this anymore. I can't save them."

He lay down next to the boy he had killed as surely as if he'd been the one to draw the blade across his neck, he wrapped his arms around Luke and he closed his eyes. He gave up.

Aedan flew free then, he soared. A city seemed to move beneath him at times, the view of it moving and swaying. He saw the moon and the stars. He felt the cool night air flow across his skin. Then he simply moved through mist, air, darkness and light. He felt as if he might be dying, he was on his way to the Maker's side. He welcomed it. He wanted to be at peace.

He found peace and he stayed there for a long, long time.

"Aedan?"

Fingers nudged his and he took them, wrapped his about them, and he opened his eyes. No mist, no dark, dank walls, only light, soft and dim, met his eyes. Blinking, Aedan glanced about. He saw a faintly line ceiling above him, the fine cracks running towards the corners. He followed one with his eyes and rolled his head over and saw Cian sitting next to him, cross-legged, holding his hand.

Sombre blue eyes regarded his for a moment and Aedan experienced a moment of confusion, of not being sure who he was, the one sitting or the one laying down. As he realised he actually lay in the bed he remembered his dreams, that he'd been unable to save them all, his parents, his wife and his children.

He croaked, his throat sore and dry as if he had yelled himself hoarse. He attempted to let go of the boy's hand. "Am I dead?" He felt so numb, unable to move, unable to even summon tears. He felt empty, he had nothing left.

Cian squeezed his fingers. "No."

Aedan looked at the boy again, tried to gauge the verity of his words by gazing into those eerily familiar blue eyes once more.

"I will get Leliana for you, she is sleeping."

When Leliana appeared in the doorway Aedan blinked in confusion. He'd been laying there with a sense of anticipation at seeing his wife, to know that she lived, and his response to her now felt wrong, muted. He couldn't find the deep well of love he knew he had for her, it almost felt like he looked at a stranger. The fact that he still felt too weak to find even sorrow over this confounded him further and, swallowing drily, he rolled his head away and closed his eyes. Another dream then and one he completely failed to understand. He had not awakened at all and this was some new torment his mind had conjured for him. Who else would visit to provoke a lack of emotional response and when would this cycle start again?

The bed dipped and resettled and fingers touched his cheek. Aedan opened his eyes and looked at her, she lay there facing him, her beautiful blue eyes tired, sad and questioning.

"Are you well?" she asked.

"I think I am dead." How else to explain the numbness, his lack of care… for anything?

She shook her head and shuffled closer to slip her arm over his chest. Her body touched his all the way down and he could feel her trembling through the fine blanket. With an effort, he moved his arm and curled it loosely about her shoulders and simply held her as she wept.


	31. The Final Battle

The Final Battle

The ground began to quake before they reached the end of the tunnel and Alistair called a halt as he braced himself against the wall, flexing his knees so as to keep his balance. They waited out the rumbles and shakes before moving forward again, rushing towards the rectangle of light that marked the end of the corridor.

The entrance became obscured by a wall of fire and once again they had to wait for the effects of the spell to pass before entering the fray. Alistair ducked his head before the heat and seeking flames and he noticed the weary dread on Luke's face. His heart went out to the young man, he had been through so much in the past few days, much more than he had at that age. The fact that he still seemed so sure of himself testified to his strength of character, but Alistair knew it could not last much longer. If he could find away to separate Luke out of this fight, he would. Ferelden's youngest Warden had more than done his duty and he needed proper rest.

Alistair dropped his gaze and shook his head lightly to hide a grim expression. At least he felt somewhat refreshed for his time in captivity. He only hoped that Oghren, or truth be told, all of them, suffered no ill effects from their exposure to the amulets. But only time would tell, time he could not contemplate right now as the wall of fire fell away revealing the chaos of the central chamber. Feeling the charge in the air that would precede a lightning storm, Alistair threw a smite out into the large cave. He could not hope to cover the entire area; he could only hope that he'd touched upon the Mage. He took the risk of throwing his own men from their feet, which they had trained for, but they would take less damage from the smite than the lightening storm he hoped to interrupt.

Though man and darkspawn dropped before him, more plated figures were left standing and they immediately took advantage of the situation, thrusting their various weapons down and across before they too were thrown by from their feet by a lightning storm.

Ducking back into the tunnel, Alistair cringed at the crackle of electricity behind him, the fine hairs rising along the back of his neck, the smell of ozone temporarily overwhelming the stench of death and taint.

"We need to find the Mage!" he yelled over the sound of the storm.

Anders nodded his vigorous agreement, Oghren growled, Luke looked on wide-eyed and the soldiers merely looked frightened. Zevran stepped forward and Alistair accepted his silent offer. He gripped the rogue's shoulder.

Turning towards the rest of the small party he gave out instructions. "Luke, would you stay with Anders please. Protect him, be his second." He turned his eyes upon the soldiers. "Oghren, I'll leave the direction of your men in your capable hands." Moving his gaze to his dwarven friend he showed a brief smile. "See you on the other side."

"Aye." Oghren ducked his head and turned to instruct his soldiers.

As soon as electricity stopped crackling and bouncing from the walls of the cavern, Alistair stepped into the wide open space, raised his shield and charged a knot of tainted beings surrounding a single armored figure. Moving his arm left then right he bashed away two of the figures before reaching the soldier's side and lifting his blade to help fend off the horde. Zevran caught the downed figures, stalked the distracted, and claimed the weak, his presence a constant shadow at Alistair's flank. Together they fought their way into the middle of the cavern and stopped to draw a breath within the relative calm space they found.

Alistair knew a new round of massive magic would hit at any moment; the Mage had had long enough to regenerate his mana. Sure enough, as if thought summoned action, a breath of cold air swept the cavern announcing the onset of a blizzard. The Mage's choice of magic did not work in his favour this time. Though Yrisa drilled all the Wardens in withstanding the effects of primal magic, many found the cold easier to shrug off than the heat. So many of the Wardens and soldiers still stood, their movements slowed but not halted by the effects of the storm, whereas the majority of the tainted fell or simply froze in place, providing ready targets for eager blades.

That Zevran froze showed the elf's fatigue. Alistair cleansed the area, knowing the effect might only be temporary if his companion continued to fail in his efforts to resist the cold. Zevran shook his head and moved to Alistair's side.

"We need to move."

Alistair nodded in agreement and they left their well of inactivity, they eye of the storm, and moved towards the back of the chamber, both of them dispatching any downed foes across their path. The ground began to shake and Alistair braced both legs, preparing to ride out an earthquake. The shaking stopped and he glanced about in confusion. A hulking shadow then fell through the mist and Alistair groaned softly. An ogre. A moment of indecision swept through him. The ogre approached from the far side of the cavern, opposite to where he and, supposedly, the Wardens and soldiers had entered. The tunnel branching from there must lead back to the Deep Roads. Who knew what further horrors would spill forth from there, either summoned by the Mage or drawn by the sounds of battle or the shared bond of taint.

Zevran decided him. The elf spun on this heel and launched himself at the ogre, sweeping low, his blades a blur as they arced towards the thick ankles and calves. Alistair stepped after his partner and raised his shield to fend off the massive fist, the resultant clang reverberating in his ears like thunder. He sliced at the large legs also. Until they cut this creature down, weakened it, they could only strike at its legs. Though their archers may have actually heard or felt it approach, likely could not find aim through the mist. Anders did.

A crushing prison formed about the creature and Zevran danced behind it, neatly severing the hamstrings. The ogre crumpled within its cage of pain, knees hitting the floor with a reverberating whump, and Alistair set to thrusting his sword through the armour, seeking the heart, as Zevran flurried from behind, is blades seeking the critical strike that would win through the scrapped armour and drive home, finding the same organ from behind. The spell dissipated and the ogre fell backward, the ground shaking once more beneath its weight. Zevran leaned over it and stabbed downwards through one eye, ensuring the monster never rose again.

Another inferno rolled over them and Alistair ducked beneath the shadow of the ogre, taking shelter beneath the creature he had just killed, and lifted his shield to deflect the worst of the heat and flames swirling over his head. Zevran scooted in beside him and gave him a quick wink, prompting an odd chuckle to bubble from Alistair's lips, before pressing against his armour and hiding similarly beneath the shield. They weathered the fire storm and stood up again.

Alistair threw another smite towards the back of the cavern and felt the energy of it roll back over him as it bounced from the wall. Zevran stumbled back a step, but withstood the blast. Fewer bodies dropped as they seemed to have moved beyond the scope of the main battle. Another earthquake hit and this time they were away from the epicenter. Feeling encouraged despite the new bruises as he repeatedly picked himself up off the ground, Alistair moved further forward. They were gaining ground on the mage. A clash of steel to his left drew his attention and he stepped in to bash a hurlock away from a Warden, recognizing Wyman. They exchanged grim nods and turned to engage their next foes, but Alistair's heart lifted at the sight of the Senior Warden. He'd seen their distinctive armour intermingled with the soldiers, but with the helms he hadn't recognised any until now. Both Philippe and Wyman wore the same helm as Aedan.

As he advanced towards the back of the cavern, the familiar rhythm settling over him in the absence of any more magical attacks in his direction. Bash, thrust, parry, bash, bash, bash. A wave of rejuvenation swept through him followed by an explosion of searing heat from behind. Anders still stood and did his job. The sound of battle swelled and faded and Alistair began to wonder if they'd ever be done, or if they would end only when they'd killed all the darkspawn in the Deep Roads. A constant stream of them had turned up to replace the tainted people, who no longer seemed to be in evidence. The air lay thick and heavy about him, the horribly familiar stench of battle. The blood, the taint, the dust and ash, the odor of death. With Zevran at his side, Alistair continued to move forward.

The ground shook beneath him again and another ogre burst through a swirl of smoke, again to his left. Alistair turned, ready to divert his course, but saw Wyman engage the creature and so he moved on, confident that the warrior's partner would flank, hoping that Anders would find a way to aid them. The smoke before him began to clear and Alistair spied a gaping tunnel entrance, the very rear of the cavern at last. A shadow moved away, into the dark recesses. Shadows poured forth, materializing into a stream of darkspawn and Alistair raised his shield. Bash, strike, parry. He and Zevran fought their way through the creatures, moving forward almost senselessly as they battered, skewered and cast their foes aside.

An axe bounced from his shoulder and Alistair dropped to his knees. A lucky arrow pierced the helm before him and the axe wielder dropped. Alistair stumbled to his feet and turned to bash a genlock away from Zevran before drawing his sword up and across, finding the neck with a spray of black fluid. Fatigue dragged at him and when the next weapon drove through his guard, a hammer strike to his breast plate that winded him, Alistair's head began to swim. Did he have the strength to win through this horde and find the Mage? Zevran worked tirelessly at his side, but he knew the elf probably had less left than he did, only determination kept him on his feet.

A clash and cry behind him caught his attention and he turned to see a knot of Wardens burst through the swirling dust that enveloped most of the cavern. They dropped their enemies and stepped forward.

"Alistair!" one of them called.

Alistair nodded towards the wide, dark tunnel. "He's in there." He? It? Who cared?

The three Wardens formed up behind him and Alistair felt stronger suddenly for having them at his back. Then the firestorm hit. They were in the direct path of the spell and the full force of it rolled up against his armour, the searing pain tearing breath from his lips, sending what felt like fire into his lungs. Alistair fell flat on his back beneath the ferocious heat and lay stunned, gasping for air. His vision blackened and greyed and his ears rang. He tried to call out, but found he had no voice. The world began to fade away.

A wave of healing seeped through him and for a moment he seemed to fight a battle between heat and light, consciousness and darkness as the energy seeped through him despite the inferno raging about him. Then he realised the inferno had ceased and that the floor had begun to rumble beneath them once more. Turning his head, Alistair saw Anders on his hands and knees, his robes fluttering, grey and torn. Luke crouched beside him, hands on the floor to steady himself, and then crawled forward and handed him a flask.

Alistair drank greedily and found, to his surprise, that he could swallow and breathe and finally talk.

"Thank you," he rasped.

Luke helped him to his feet. He stood. He felt dizzy, but he stood. They had to move forward. They had to stop this mage before he killed too many of them. Alistair had seen the bodies of his own men across the cavern as the fog of war swirled and eddied about. He'd even seen the distinctive Warden armour beneath a dead hurlock, both parties with an axe buried in the other. The sight had sickened him, but he had to move forward, not backward. He could not help them now and even if he could have, it was not his job.

Turning back from the tunnel entrance, Alistair urged Anders and Luke to move back. "Please, don't follow me in here, the men need you more."

Anders refused to move and stared him down. Luke remained steadfastly at the mage's side. Alistair looked at the young man and took a deep breath. He wanted to send Luke away, he felt a powerfully protective urge towards his brother, his brother's son, but he knew that nowhere in the cavern was 'safe'. Perhaps at his side would be best after all? But he planned to head towards their most terrible foe.

Alistair sighed, he did not have time for this. He turned as a trickle of darkspawn emerged from the darkness. Anders threw a fireball in there and the majority of them disintegrated and dropped to the floor. Alistair grunted and grudgingly admitted to himself that having a mage at his back certainly helped. He still did not like the idea of having Luke with him, not going into this fight, but at this point he just felt too tired to argue. He and Zevran, their three Wardens, and Anders and Luke moved forward.

They met a few more darkspawn and the feel of the taint seemed to diminish as they moved forward, though Alistair could still feel it's presence in the cavern behind him and the faint trace that he hoped might be the mage in front of them. Lifting his shield he thrust darkspawn from his path, diverting them to the Wardens behind him rather than stop to fight. He heard the clash of steel behind him, the whisper and rush of Anders's magic, but he only looked forward. With Zevran at his side they pressed on through the tunnel, finding that each pool of light petered out just as another began. It occurred to him then that this mage required the light, that he had lost the ability to see in the darkness. A weakness, he had found something, now he had to figure out a way in which to exploit it.

A blast of cold air hit them and they all withstood the cone of cold except for Luke. Ander's dispelled him and they moved forward again. The Mage had made a mistake. He had thrown a close spell, one of limited range, they were gaining upon him. Alistair hesitated a moment, waiting for his party to catch up.

Turning about, he addressed them. "He has a sleep spell, that's how he caught us before. It is powerful."

An anti-magic shield shimmered about him in response and they moved forward once more. He felt the electric charge building and threw a smite forward. A muffled thump followed and the lightning failed to hit them; he had successfully interrupted the spell, had he also thrown the Mage from his feet? Picking up his pace, Alistair ran forward only to stumble across two downed and disoriented darkspawn. He and Zevran killed one each and stepped forward once more. The charge filled the air once again, raising the hairs along the back of his neck and electricity crackled about them, bouncing off of his shield and catching his companions. He smelt the ozone and the stink of burnt leather. Glancing at Zevran he saw the elf's hair floating about his head in a frenzied halo. He couldn't help the sharp bark of laughter that shot from his mouth and Zevran scowled at him.

They were close, so close. These smaller spells would exhaust the Mage's mana just as surely as the larger ones did; they just needed to withstand them all. Another cone of cold caught them and they all remained on their feet only to be knocked down by the follow up spell, a fireball. They all dropped this time, including Alistair. His shield had dropped and all of their resistance had taken a beating. A wave of rejuvenation moved through them all and a shield formed about him once more. No more spells came at them. The Mage had temporarily exhausted his mana.

"Quickly!" Alistair urged and they all ran forward.

They met only two more darkspawn that seemed to linger in blank confusion, simply obstructions in their path, easily cut down, and then they came upon the Mage himself. He held up a gloved hand at their approach and called out to them.

"I surrender!"

"He lies," Zevran whispered curtly beside him. "Even if he does not, he lacks honor, no? Shall I kill him?"

Alistair stepped forward with his shield raised and his blade up and ready to thrust.

The Mage spoke again, the grimace on his face pulling down into what might be a pleading or cajoling expression. "Will you not parlay?"

Alistair blinked in astonishment. "After our last conversation? I do not think so."

He raised his sword.

"I can give you information!"

Alistair lowered the sword.

"Do not listen to him, Alistair," Zevran hissed at his side and moved to step forward.

"Wait," Alistair said to Zevran before turning back to the Mage. "What information."

"About my brothers, of course. The Warden has not found us all."

Ugh! Alistair thought he might gag at the horror of those words. Deep down he'd known this all along, but to have this creature admit made him feel sick, tired and perhaps ineffectual. They fought an endless battle against a foe that had begun to change at an alarming rate. Panic seeped into his thoughts and his pulse began to race in a manner he thought might be akin to Aedan's fever. The urge to slay this mage caught him up and Alistair stepped forward, lifting his blade further.

"We're done talking."

The Mage raised his hand and Alistair felt the sleep spell wash over and around his shield, heard the bodies dropping behind him. The blackened face gaped at him and Alistair gave him a feral grin in return. Obviously the Mage had not fought a templar before, one who finally had the advantage of a spell shield. He cleansed the area and then thrusting forward with his shield, he knocked the mage down. He moved over the robed figure and prepared to strike with his sword, but the creature rolled with unexpected dexterity and his blade hit the ground with a jarring clang. Alistair aimed a kick at the retreating form and then threw a smite at the ground. It buffeted back at him and swept him from his own feet, and Alistair blinked up at the dark ceiling of the tunnel in surprise.

He struggled to his feet before the stunned mage and thrust out with his sword. Electricity crackled along the blade, causing him to wince and clench his teeth. Then the mage become enveloped in a crushing prison and Alistair felt his whole body literally slump in relief. He thrust his sword through the spell time and again, not able to see yet the damage he inflicted, but determined that when the spell dropped, the Mage would be dead. Zevran obviously agreed with this plan as he appeared behind the constricted form and flurried furiously with his blades.

Not a lot fell to the floor when the spell dropped. A limp and stained collection of robes, the linen gloves poking out in a horrible reminder. Alistair had to fight the urge to gag again, at the carnage and the thought that he had been partially responsible for it. He stepped back. They were done, the Mage was dead.

Zevran poked through the rags with his longer blade but refrained from making comment, for which Alistair was pathetically grateful. Luke appeared at his side and Alistair glanced over at him.

"Luke, are you alright?"

"I am, you?"

Alistair took in the crusted helm, the soft brown eyes behind, the gore covered armour, the limp hold the young man had on his blades, and he chuckled. He looked at his own armour, the deplorable state of Anders's robe, the filth in Zevran's hair and the bewildered expressions on the faces of the three Wardens and he laughed some more. Zevran grinned, Anders smiled and Luke blinked in astonishment.

After a moment his odd mirth subsided and Alistair cleared his throat. "I am well, Luke. A little unbalanced I think, but well."

Luke may have grinned, his eyes crinkled behind his helm, and nodded.

Alistair turned towards the Wardens. "So, what's next, we finish killing the darkspawn and dismantle the lab?"

As one the five men nodded at him.

"Then let's do it."


	32. Sorting the Dead

Sorting the Dead

The scene that awaited them upon their return to the main cavern would remain in Luke's memory for a long, long time. Despite the fact he had fought skirmishes, had seen the darkspawn overrun Vigil's Keep, had battled his way down to these Deep Roads, this carnage far outweighed all his youthful experience. He simply could not count the bodies and the stench of it, the pools of blood, the pieces of… Luke had to actively fight for control of his stomach.

Wandering throughout the battlefield were soldiers and Wardens, many of whom looked as if they should have joined their brethren on the floor. Armour was flecked with gore and the spray of blood and ichor, coated with dust, dented, scored and in two cases even cracked by the elements, the repeated heating and freezing. Luke found it hard to distinguish between soldier and Warden and he looked for Wyman's distinctive helm.

Every now and then a clash of steel or a grunt and thud would indicate the end of yet another darkspawn that had tried to rise from the floor, or had wandered in from the wider tunnel where they had left the body of the Mage. A familiar voice cut through the dust and Luke looked up to see the stocky form of Oghren approach, picking his way over and around the heaped bodies.

"I need a row of archers, men? Where are ya?"

Two soldiers converged upon their commander and Oghren blinked at them. "You're all that's left?"

A Warden stepped up, another leather clad bowman, only the barely discernible colour of this leathers marking him out, and Oghren nodded at the three of them before jerking his head over his shoulder towards the wider tunnel. "Watch that hole, will ya? Anything comes out of it, fill it with arrows, and maybe give us a holler while yer at it."

"Yes, Commander," all three men said and Oghren thumped the closest on the shoulder before picking his way across several more bodies and pulling up before Alistair.

"Your majesty."

"Oghren." Alistair shook his head a moment and then reached out to grip his commander's arm. "It's good to see you."

Oghren grunted in response and then conceded to the moment with a gruff, "You too." Turning his head this way and that he eyed the king's companions, his gaze resting a moment longer on Luke before he continued. "All of you."

Alistair let out a sigh, one that sounded about as tired as Luke felt. The king gazed around the cavern with the air of a stunned soldier. "Where do we begin?"

"We find the living, tend the wounded and sort the dead."

The small group exchanged grim looks. Most of them had performed this duty in the past, either during the Siege of Denerim or as a Warden.

"Have you seen Wyman?" Alistair asked and Luke looked toward the dwarf in interest.

Oghren shook his head. "Last I saw he tangled with an ogre."

Anders nodded towards the corner where they had all last seen the Senior Warden. "Over there."

"Would you?" Alistair asked and the mage nodded and walked in that direction and Luke followed, partly because he'd yet to be 'reassigned' from his protective detail and partly because he wanted to find Wyman. He heard Alistair giving instructions to the other three Wardens behind him to start dismantling the lab equipment. They would take very little back with them, only anything new or unusual. The rest would be destroyed. Aedan would have ordered it burned to the ground, every last stick of furniture, every last item.

A groan sounded just to their left and Anders swept his robe aside and knelt beside a pile of bodies. Luke crouched down and taking a deep breath, hefted a darkspawn corpse aside, thanking the Maker he had two gauntlets again. With a sticky and fleshy sound, the body slumped to the ground revealing a soldier with half his breast plate torn away by an axe. That he still drew breath stunned Luke and he had to quickly avert his eyes from the rent metal and bloodied undershirt. Anders frowned as he held his hand out, and then swallowed and shook his head. He glanced at Luke and then touched his hand gently to the man's neck. The man stilled. Luke did not know what Anders had done, what spell had been used, but he understood the mercy of the gesture. Whether he had been beyond the mage's ability or even if Anders merely sought to reserve his mana for a better cause, he respected the decision. With a brief nod, Luke whispered the words of the chant and stood.

The next distraction proved to be a tainted man, one still living and quite sane. He shuffled behind a pillar at their approach, leaving a trail of black blood in his wake. Luke stepped after the man, his sword lifted and ready. He rounded the pillar and stared down at the cowering figure as the man flinched and raised his arms over his head. Maker, he looked like a man, blackened, hairless, but afraid. Luke's heart wrenched. He raised his sword, lowered it, and then in a quick motion intended to defy thought, thrust down below the raised arms, seeking to strike the heart, end it quickly. He did not notice the keening sound that came from his throat until he closed his lips and then he turned away, embarrassed, sickened, and stumbled against Anders. The mage steadied him, a hand upon each shoulder, and caught his gaze with his own warm brown eyes. They exchanged no words, only that look, but it was enough.

It did not get any easier. Anders saved the next victim they found, a Warden with a broken arm and some hideous burn marks – though nearly all of them had suffered the same during the firestorms, the leather clad soldiers and Wardens always fared worse. They could only carry so many balms upon their belts and obviously the supply had run out before the end of this battle. No one had anticipated the scale. Glancing about the cavern, Luke amended his thoughts – no one had anticipated the cost either.

Anders took the life of another tainted figure, its sex indeterminate beneath the misshaped rags, its guts looped across the floor. A genlock actually rose to its knees and tried to fend them off. Luke found it a lot easier to dispatch this target with a clean swipe across the neck after the darkspawn's borrowed axe fell short. They moved on.

Finally they reached the hulking corpse of the ogre. Anders had not been able to help in this match as he had with the first. Wyman and his companion had obviously dealt with the creature though as it lay quite dead upon the ground, one of its wounds still sporting the sword that had caused it. Wyman's sword. Luke's breath caught in his throat and he cast his eyes about looking for the Warden. He saw the distinctive winged helm, lying empty, some distance away and jogged towards it, picking it up. Blood crusted the rim of it and Luke swallowed against the visible gore, hoping it came from another source. His gaze fell upon a body crumpled against a wall, the colour of the armour just distinguishable beneath the dust and grime and he ran to it, dropping to his knees in front of the Senior Warden, crying out as he recognised him. Blank eyes met his, a dead gaze, and Luke found himself quite unable to move, even to check if by some miracle Wyman had a pulse. Anders knelt beside him and performed the task, his eyes closing and his head dropping along with his hand after a few breaths.

His neck had been broken, Luke could see that now, the odd angle of the head, the posture reminiscent of the way his sister had died. He gulped and swallowed and blinked against the mingled horror of losing a brother, a friend, a leader in such a way. Aedan would be… Luke dropped his head and tried to swallow again over the lump in his throat. Tears burned behind his eyes, at the back of his nose, but he refused to give into them. But when Anders grasped his shoulder and tried to encourage him to his feet, Luke found himself quite unable to follow. It was as if the strength had finally left his body. He wanted to just lie down and sleep. He craved the oblivion of his dreams, any escape from the nightmare of this cavern and the aftermath of the battle.

"Stay here and rest a while, Luke. I'll come back for you."

Luke nodded mutely; his mind focusing on the word 'rest'. But as he followed the retreating form of the mage with his eyes, he let out a sigh of resignation. His duty had not ended. He currently acted as Anders' second; he could not cast that task aside just because he felt tired, sad, sick. He wanted to, Maker, he wanted to sit next to Wyman and hold the dead man's hand. Bowing his head, Luke whispered his words and then thrust himself unsteadily to his feet. Anders looked up at his approach, opened his mouth, and then closed it again. They moved on.

Alistair stepped out from behind a pillar, followed by Zevran, and the four of them looked to one another silently for a moment. Luke idly wondered if it always went like this after a battle. If what had gone before robbed them of their words or if there simply weren't any for what came after.

"Any sign of Wyman?"

Luke felt his face creasing and wished he still wore his helm. He looked away and towards the floor, dimly aware of Anders shaking his head. Alistair's head dropped forward and Zevran moved to Luke's side. Luke wrestled with his emotions, knowing that his fatigue worked against him right now, making him vulnerable to a childish display, but suddenly he remembered that he was only eighteen. He was a child by some counts, a man by others. Where was Aedan? He needed one of those fierce hugs, the ones that wrapped him up and nearly stopped his breath. He felt his shoulders begin to shake and that's when Alistair finally stepped forward and gathered him into a hug. Of course, this undid him and the tears finally came.

Alistair held him for a few moments before he pulled back but left an arm about his shoulders.

"Zev, would you continue with Anders, please?"

The mage and the rogue moved off silently and Luke let Alistair propel him towards one of the low benches, sat at the gentle pressure on his shoulder. The king sat beside him and let out a soft sigh.

"I'd like to tell you that you'll feel better after we sleep and eat, or that it all gets easier. But I'd be lying on both counts, Luke. You will get better at coping with it though."

Alistair touched his arm then and Luke looked up to meet his eyes.

"Don't hold it in, Luke. Deal with it in some way. Come to me if you need to talk," with his other hand Alistair gestured the chamber. "After we're done, or even before."

Luke swallowed and nodded. He knew the meaning behind Alistair's words. Aedan never talked after a battle, besides ordering his Wardens and giving out instructions. Aedan held everything inside, almost protectively. He withdrew. He had always been like that, even before Luke had become a Warden. Though he knew his own temperament to be different than that of his adoptive father, he could understand the temptation to keep it all in, to bottle up the sadness and the anger and not display it to others. Such actions did not always lead to berserk tendencies, not all Wardens were talkative after battle either. But given the reason they sat down here without the Warden Commander, the advice was sound and well given. Luke took it as such and after swallowing a final time over the lump in his throat, patted at the gauntleted hand across his arm.

"Thanks. I, I understand."

Alistair nodded and stood. Luke made to rise and Alistair placed a hand on his shoulder. "You are relieved of duty, Warden. Take a break."

Luke felt the corner of his mouth crook upwards in a lopsided smile and he sat back down to follow his orders.

He leaned against the pillar behind him and closed his eyes, thinking merely to rest a moment and seeking to separate himself from the grit, the dust, the blood, the aftermath of the battle. He fell asleep. When Zevran settled a hand on his shoulder later, he blinked his eyes open, somewhat dazed. He'd slumped forward on the bench and had sprawled across it. He'd slept deeply, dreamlessly. He felt… numb.

"Zev, how long…"

Zevran shrugged and looked about, "What meaning has time down here?"

Luke shook his head at the odd answer and sat up, working his jaw and rubbing his eyes. He reached for his canteen and found that it no longer hung from his hip, in fact, his armour appeared scuffed and dented and he blinked at it, wondering when he'd taken that blow to his side and then wondering further how he had managed to lie on his side in his armour and sleep. Luke shook his head again. Despite, or perhaps because of the couple hours of rest, he felt slightly disconnected with reality.

Pushing up off the bench he stood and tried another question. "Ah, what's happening, are we ready to leave?"

"Yes."

Luke gazed around and realised he'd probably slept for longer than a couple of hours. The dust had settled, finally, and even the stench of battle seemed to have dissipated somewhat. The back of the laboratory stood clear of equipment, empty benches and tables pushed together into a pile. They planned to burn them then. A heap of broken and discarded tools and implements sat beneath the pile, the refuse, the things they did not intend to carry back to Denerim.

Turning his head, Luke assessed the rest of the cavern. Soldiers and Wardens stood and sat in small clusters, fewer than they had entered with, but more than Luke had hoped to see. His spirits rose at the sight. He saw Nathaniel and his face broke into a wide grin as he strode towards the archer.

Nate turned and smiled in return, commenting softly, "Good morning, sleepyhead."

Luke ducked his head, slightly embarrassed, but took the comment in stride. He'd been following orders, after all.

He looked to the other members of the group, three Wardens, Robert, Devin and Hector. They all exchanged nods and quiet smiles. Luke picked out other Wardens about the cavern, ticking off their names in his head, Garrett, Drew, Eduard, Simon, Warwick… he counted them all and came up four short. Wyman, Jared, Richard and Brent. The sadness welled within once more and he tamped it down. He'd deal with it later. Not too late, just not now.

From snippets conversation he learned that the company had also lost five soldiers. In addition to the two soldiers who had died in the cells, they had lost another eleven men. Their victory had come at a high cost. But the odds had been against them; despite their training and equipment they had been outnumbered in this battle by at least ten to one. That any of them remained standing gave testament to their fallen Senior Warden and his daily drills. Wyman would be missed for many, many more reasons, however.

The bodies of the dead had been sorted into two areas. The tainted and the darkspawn had only been moved or dragged aside as necessary to retrieve their fallen comrades. The soldiers and the Wardens had been laid out on benches and lined up in a row.

Alistair called for the attention of all and everyone turned to face their King.

"What we strive to preserve sometimes does not feel enough justification for what we lose. But it must be, or we would not be here." Alistair appeared to hold his breath then, as if he tried not to sigh, and then he glanced down at Wyman. He spoke his next words directly to the body of the Senior Warden. "For that Ferelden thanks you. I thank you."

Alistair bowed his head then and the company observed a moment of silence. When the King raised his head once more, he beckoned Luke forward. Leaning in he whispered quietly, "Would you?"

Luke swallowed and blinked, unsure if he could, but he nodded anyway and stepped forward, into the midst of the lined up benches. In as clear a voice as he could, he sent them to the Maker's side:

"Draw your last breath, my friends, Cross the Veil and the Fade and all the stars in the sky. Rest at the Maker's right hand, And be Forgiven."

One by one the Wardens and soldiers moved through the row of benches, paying their final respects and then the company formed up by the exit tunnel. Alistair nodded toward Anders and the mage began to throw his spells. A firestorm erupted in the centre of the cavern first, consuming the bodies of their fallen, taking them away before the stench of burning minions could taint them further. Fireballs followed, one by one, igniting the stacked furniture in the rear of the cavern and then as a last gesture, the tainted. The darkspawn corpses lay were they were, untended.

The march back to the Deep Roads passed in complete silence, possibly out of respect, more likely from sheer exhaustion on the part of every man. The soldiers gathered by the door were a welcome sight. They had seen no trouble, no darkspawn. Peter and the wounded were long gone. The company moved through the massive door and Alistair ordered it closed behind him. With the dwarven door closed and locked and the side tunnel collapsed Fort Drakon might be safe once again.

Luke stood close enough to Alistair to hear him turn to Oghren and say, "As soon as we've had some sleep we need to find the other exits to this section of the Deep Roads."

Garrett moved forward and bowed his head and Alistair acknowledged him. The soft spoken Warden offered his suggestions. Besides Alistair, who technically did not hold a rank amongst the order, Garrett counted as the most senior Warden present.

"Perhaps after we have recuperated, the Wardens can map this section of the Deep Roads while your soldiers canvass above the ground." Garrett directed his comments to both Oghren and Alistair and the pair nodded at each other and back towards the Warden.

"A sound plan." Alistair glanced about the corridor and back at the huge circular door and Luke guessed at what the King thought. Perhaps Alistair wondered if he would be joining the Wardens or the soldiers when their campaign resumed. Luke did not envy him the decision.

The bowman still guarded the entrance to the ruined corridors and would remain in place until Fort Drakon had been officially declared safe. The inside of the Fort had never looked so welcome, so bright. The air that had always seemed slightly dusty smelled fresh and cool. Luke stumbled on the stairs, the hike back had been long and every man had been weighed down with a pack of equipment or the helms of their fallen comrades.

Peter waited to greet them and he did so, exchanging quiet words with Alistair. No cheering or jubilant sounds passed through the crowd, but many hugs and handshakes were given and received. It was a quiet homecoming.

When he stepped into the large dining room that had been turned into their temporary forward point, a small voice called out, "Luke!"

How Rory recognised him, he would never know. He did not wear his helm but he hardly felt himself with the grime on his armour and the filth on his skin. His little brother pulled his hand from Brenna's and ran across the room and Luke dropped Wyman's helm and his pack and stretched his arms out, scooping up the little boy, heedless of the fact he would dirty the boy's clothes. He hugged the boy tightly to his chest and blinked a few times before letting the tears simply roll down his cheeks unchecked.

Over his head he heard Alistair greeting Brenna with mixture of affection and concern. The king hugged his wife tightly, kissed her cheek chastely and then spoke to her in a soft, almost admonishing tone.

"Love, what has you here? It may not be safe yet."

"I had to come, Alistair. The children," Brenna broke off, and Luke looked up to observe the Queen's expression.

Brenna looked drawn, which was to be expected given that her husband had been below ground for an amount of time Luke could no longer account for. But she also looked frightened and bewildered.

"What about the children," Alistair asked.

"They have been having nightmares, both of them. Rory won't stop telling me Aedan is lost and can't find his way home and Grace," she paused and covered her mouth a moment as if what she was about to say could not be believed. "Grace told me Luke would be back today, now, at this time."


	33. Scars

Scars

"Aedan, can you hear me?"

Leliana felt as if she talked to no one. Sometimes he met her eyes, mostly he did not, he stared blankly at the ceiling or closed his eyes altogether. She could not shake the feeling that at times he did hear her, but simply chose to ignore her. He had not spoken a word since he had awakened the previous evening and had told her he thought he was dead.

If she held his hand he would tangle his fingers with hers, if she lay next to him he'd put his arm about her, but he didn't reach for her by himself. Did he think he dreamed, did he think he still wandered the Fade?

Cian had told her a little of what he'd seen of Aedan's nightmare.

"He kept trying to save you, all of you. He could not, but he would not stop trying."

Leliana stared at the boy, not sure if she was more horrified by what he told her or why he was able to tell her. Finally she patted his small hand and whispered, "Thank you, Cian."

Letting go of Aedan's fingers now, Leliana stepped to the window and gazed into the yard below. They currently stayed at a small farmhouse on just outside of Val Royeaux. Morrigan maintained it as a retreat, a place where she could keep her more personal belongings, a place to take Cian to on occasion to let him taste a simpler life, for when mother and son wanted to spend time just together. Besides the small vegetable patch behind the yard, the one cow and the collection of chickens, the rest of the fields comprising the small property remained fallow. Morrigan had told her she might one day cultivate them, if ever she decided to leave her role as advisor, or if Cian decided he preferred this life to the bustle of the city.

Morrigan would return to the palace today. Word had reached them that the body of Anna Mason had been found, and that through investigation they had traced her back to Marjolaine. The assassin's stronghold had been overturned and the dead discovered. Though Felix Mason remained at large, his plan had come to an end. He would be on the run – his wife dead, his associates dead, and a price on his head for treason. The chevaliers had declared it safe for the Empress's advisor to return to the city.

A step in the doorway had Leliana turning her head and she saw Morrigan standing there. They exchanged a glance, both looked at Aedan and then looked at one another once more.

Morrigan said softly, "I will be leaving soon."

Casting a last glance at Aedan, Leliana followed her from the room and downstairs to the living area.

She and Morrigan had only talked briefly in the days that had followed Aedan's rescue. They had slept different watches the first two days until it seemed Aedan lay at peace, his fever finally abated. Then they had only exchanged idle conversation, both of them seemingly lost in their own thoughts for the most part.

Morrigan sat on the sofa and Leliana sat opposite on a chair. They could hear the faint noise of Cian playing outside. It had surprised her the first time she had seen him play, the frivolous action at odds with his serious personality. Despite his stature, Leliana found it hard to remember Cian was in fact a child, a boy not much older than Rory.

Turning to Morrigan she smiled. "Cian seems such a happy child, Morrigan. Is he looking forward to returning to the palace?"

Morrigan returned the smile. "I imagine so. He misses his lessons."

They said nothing a moment and Leliana fidgeted in her lap, trying to find the right words for what she wanted to say.

"Morrigan, thank you, for everything. Words hardly seem enough."

The witch frowned lightly, looked as if she experienced the same difficulty in finding words in return.

"I hope he recovers further, Leliana," she hesitated and then plunged on. "Even when you arrived in Val Royeaux I could see he had changed, that he was not himself. Cian tells me tales, I do not know what to believe, but he has not been well for some time, am I correct?"

Leliana bit her lips and nodded quietly. How to explain Aedan's obsessions, his pain? "He takes it all to heart, Morrigan, he always has, and now it has broken him." Then she voiced the thought that had been the back of her mind since he had awakened. "Perhaps we should have let him go. I do not think he wants to be here anymore."

How odd was it that she said these things to a woman she had barely considered a friend, had often thought of as a rival, had at times hated, but who had now saved her husband's life – again. But who else could she tell? And Leliana needed a confidant now. With Aedan unresponsive and the cause of her anguish, she had no one else to turn to. Even upon her return to Denerim she doubted she would find anyone who would understand what they had gone through, what it had taken from both of them.

"What happened to cause him so much pain?" Morrigan's tone quested quietly, as if she did not really expect an answer.

"Luke." Leliana shook her head. She knew it had been more than Luke, but that one event had tipped him over and edge and he had been falling into the abyss ever since. "That's why we came to Val Royeaux, Morrigan. For a simple holiday." Leliana felt a harsh chuckle leave her throat. "It seemed to be working too, he, he seemed to find a sense of peace, and then," she could not continue.

Morrigan looked confused and Leliana realised her former companion, her current companion, did not know had transpired at the tainted village. Taking a deep breath, she tried to explain.

"It happened in the village where he found Grace. The villagers had been tainted by the Architect and Luke should not have been there, but," Leliana wrung her hands in her lap, "he worships Aedan. He always has. Aedan rescued Luke as a boy, from the darkspawn. He cares for, no, he loves Luke like a son. I think their bond started with their shared loss, losing their parents and most of their families." Leliana shrugged. "It is hard to understand why some people connect sometimes, but with Luke and Aedan it never seemed odd, they both had something the other wanted. Luke wanted a father and Aedan wanted a son."

"But I gave him," Morrigan stopped and Leliana looked up at the other woman.

Frowning, Leliana started with, "No, you took from him." Realising how that sounded, Leliana held up her hand. "Morrigan, I am sorry. I," how to find the right words? "When Aedan found Luke he thought me dead and his only chance at a child, the one he had conceived with me, lost. He did not think he would ever find you, or Cian. He was so lost."

He was so often lost. Leliana often wondered what he actually searched for. Over the years she had wavered between joy at thinking she filled that gap and despair at realizing she did not, not quite. Now she realised that no one person could ever have provided the answer to what Aedan had been searching for. No one but himself.

Morrigan spoke softly. "Aedan gave me a gift, one that has become more precious as the years progress. I sought to give him, you, the same, but it seems it has not given him the happiness I had hoped it would. I must admit I just do not understand these relationships, how an adopted son could mean more to him than one of his own blood."

Leliana prepared to refute the statement to tell her that Aedan considered Riordan, the son of his blood, to be a gift, a treasure, and then Morrigan's own use of the word 'gift' struck her and her mouth dropped open instead. Closing her mouth, she frowned and asked a question instead, a question she was not entirely sure she wanted to hear the answer to.

"What did you give him, me, Morrigan?"

The witch sat back a little and her expression indicated she thought she had said too much. With a quiet sigh, she dropped her head and then looked up, a meek expression on her face, something so totally out of character that Leliana felt a chill descend her spine.

"Riordan, your son. I gave you both a child of your own."

Leliana felt sick, physically ill. The blood drained from her face and she gasped and then covered her mouth with a hand.

"How, why?"

"The how is a lot easier to explain than the why." Morrigan sighed and studied her hands. "The magic, the ritual. I sought imbue it with a residual effect. I did not know if it would work until Cian told me it had." Morrigan looked up then. "The why?" She shrugged. "I do not know how to articulate it. A whim, perhaps? He did not," she paused. "He did not come to me easily, Leliana. He would not stop asking about the child. I could see how important it was to him, this child, his child."

Morrigan frowned and Leliana realised she had been sitting there utterly speechless. As she searched for something to say, Morrigan continued.

"Does Riordan not make him happy?"

This, Leliana could talk about. "Yes. He loves his adopted children, but Riordan has always been different." Her voice dropped. "He calls him his… gift."

Morrigan's brows arched and Leliana nodded slightly, as if to acknowledge her surprise.

"Morrigan, I don't know what to say." After what this woman had just helped her accomplish her gratitude hardly felt like enough. "Riordan is, well, besides Aedan, he is my greatest joy."

A thought occurred and Leliana frowned. If Aedan never recovered properly Riordan would be all she had. Swallowing over the lump in her throat, she pulled her fingers apart and then spurred on by the moment she asked the question she'd always wanted to ask, but had never had the chance or the inclination.

"If you cared so much for Aedan, why did you not take him for yourself?" Leliana well remembered the one spat she had had with Morrigan in camp over the Warden, both of them admitting they found him attractive, though she'd sensed at the time Morrigan had only been after physical comfort. Perhaps she had misjudged the woman.

"I tried."

The admission hurt and Leliana dropped her face to her hands. She shouldn't have asked. Now she would hear about his affairs with another woman and on top of what she already dealt with – she did not think she could take it. Her breath caught and misery threatened to overwhelm her. She felt so alone.

"Leliana, I did not succeed. His heart was already yours, even before you two kept watch together that night."

The sound of horses interrupted their talk and Morrigan looked up and then stood.

"Thankfully we have an interruption. I find it odd to speak of such things with you, Leliana; motherhood seems to have weakened my resolve in many things."

"Motherhood does not weaken, Morrigan, it strengths." She stood before the witch. "I see you as stronger now, with more resolve than before, more purpose."

Morrigan tilted her head and thought for a moment, and then simply said, "It is time for me to leave."

Leliana nodded softly. "Thank you again, for everything."

Morrigan nodded and stepped towards the door. She turned and said, "While Thedas still has a purpose for that man, I will continue to be here, there. Know that, Leliana. I will see you in two days."

There were some things Morrigan said that Leliana would never understand and she knew the witch would not answer her on them. Leliana watched her collect Cian from the yard as the footman loaded their bags and then the coach disappeared from view. Leliana sat once more and reviewed their conversation. The revelation of Riordan's origin left her feeling confused and she wished she could talk to Aedan about it. But she did know that however he had been conceived, he was their son and theirs only. She had carried him, he had her eyes. If he had been a gift, then so be it; it did not make him any less hers. Gazing about the empty farmhouse Leliana felt alone but for the man upstairs that would not talk to her.

Sighing with resignation, Leliana trudged upstairs to try again.

He slept and rather than disturb him, Leliana simply sat by the window and daydreamed. She slept a while and when she woke, his eyes were on her. He'd rolled over on to his side and he did not move his cool blue gaze when she met it. She tried a smile and saw he attempted to return it, the corner of his mouth twitching. Reaching for his hand she sighed softly as his warm fingers curled about hers.

She almost dared not talk, afraid he would refuse to answer, and so he surprised her when he spoke first.

"Where are we?"

"Outside of Val Royeaux."

He looked relieved for a moment and then his eyes closed and he slept again.

Leliana did not know if he slept because he preferred not to be awake or if he really needed to sleep that much. There were just so many things about him she did not understand at the moment. His wounds had healed, for the most part, though he had many scars. Morrigan had had to expend all of her healing on his foot just to get them out of Marjolaine's stronghold. Her first heal had failed to set many of the small bones and as they held him between them he had stepped down, cried out and crumpled back to the floor. Leliana did not like to think of the pain it had caused him to actually wake him from his fevered nightmare for those few moments. He had called her name twice.

The second attempt to heal his foot fared better and they got him up the stairs. Despite his fevered and wasted state, Aedan was still a tall and muscular man. It took nearly every last ounce of strength both she had Morrigan had possessed to get him to the top of the stairs, and then all their plans had nearly been undone. More assassins waited for them.

When they had finally made it to the farmhouse the sun had risen and Morrigan had paused long enough to dismiss her housekeeper before dropping into bed, her mana and energy exhausted. Leliana had done her best to tend Aedan's wounds, cleaning him again, binding him, dosing him with health poultices and sitting by him as he rambled with fever, yelling, shaking and even at times fighting off her hands. She had fallen asleep slumped across his bed and had awakened to find Cian sitting on the mattress beside Aedan, holding his hand.

Morrigan had used her one heal spell on and off throughout that day, mostly exhausting it in keeping his fever at bay. She had fixed his nose and his foot, she did set his ribs. She could do little more. Aedan would carry horrible scars from his ordeal, his wounds were too many and too great for either of them to deal with and he'd born them for too long for any magic to take them away at this point.

Leliana knew she would carry fresh scars from their ordeal, though hers were less visible. As she contemplated what they had gone through, she wondered if his current state, his numbness and disinterest in talking might not be a blessing. They would talk after they both healed, they would share their fresh scars after their wounds had close.

Leliana now kissed the fingers still curled about hers and blinked her dry eyes. She needed his closeness, whether he was prepared to give it or not and so she climbed onto the narrow bed and snuggled herself into his sleeping arms, put her head on his pillow and closed her eyes. When she woke up, she found herself alone in the bed but she could hear movement. Sitting up she caught sight of his back and winced. Maker's breath it would take time to get used to that difference. Instead of smooth skin he had barely healed stripes; he would have the marks for the rest of his life. She had wanted Morrigan to heal his back first, but had known even then it would have been too late; the parted skin had already been infected, crusted with grime.

Aedan pulled a shirt over his head with slow, deliberate movements and then sat to lace his boots. He looked up at her movement gave her a considering look.

"I want to go home," he said.

"I do too."

She sat up and he stood and she saw the effort it cost him to gain his feet again. He walked to the bed and sat beside her and took her hand.

"I don't know why I am so numb, but I do know I love you Leliana." He pulled her into his arms. "Thank you for getting me out of there."

Leliana held him tightly, wondering a moment at the oddness of his choice of words, and then it struck her. He'd only thanked her, he had not apologised, he had not fallen upon his litany of 'sorry', as he usually might have.

"I love you, Aedan." She murmured to his chest.

They sat together for a while, him offering all he could give, the physical comfort of his hug, and Leliana took it, found she could draw strength from it. It gave her hope. He was still there, buried deeply, but there.

They packed their bags, the ones Leliana had removed from Marjolaine's house. They saddled the horses, the ones Leliana had found in the stable behind the assassin's stronghold. Aedan had to rest after that, and she feared he would not last the ride to the city, but he did, he held on with the grim determination he'd always had – that aspect of him had not changed.

As they rode he asked questions now and again about their rescue, Morrigan and Cian's role. Leliana kept her answers factual for the most part. When she told him Morrigan had assumed bird form and had flown him from the city while she had followed with the horses, she saw a look of wonder cross his face.

"I remember flying," he said softly.

Morrigan herself greeted them upon their return to the palace. She did not have to feign the concern in her face or voice as she greeted them. The functionary at her side looked aghast at Aedan and Morrigan immediately dispatched him for the palace healer upon hearing that Aedan had suffered a 'fever' on the road.

The Empress swept into their suite with the healer.

"Leliana." Celene placed a hand on each shoulder and brushed a kiss to each cheek. "You do not look refreshed from your trip. I hear your husband is not well?"

"Aedan requires rest only, Celene. But thank you for your concern."

Aedan worked to fend off the healer, but the man insisted on placing a hand over his head and 'feeling' for his fever. The mage blinked his eyes open and looked at Aedan. Aedan returned the look and they exchanged no words for a long moment and then the man said, "There are a few lingering traces I can purge."

Aedan nodded and submitted to a more fully restorative heal which sapped the last of his strength. The mage left him out cold on the bed.

Celene pursed her lips but allowed herself to be ushered from the bedroom of their suite.

"You missed all the excitement, Leliana. Someone made an attempt on Paul's life and I had to send Morrigan away."

Leliana frowned with proper concern. Paul Le Trene remained the weak point in their plan. "Is Lord Le Trene well?"

"He is in the country with his sister. He has decided politics is too dangerous." While Celene shrugged in a gesture that defied sympathy, Leliana could sense it in her voice. "Better he decide to retire now than not be able to play the game, hm?"

Flushing slightly, Leliana dipped her head. When she looked up she noted the concern in the Empress's eyes. "Forgive me, Celene, I am tired from our journey."

"Of course, my dear. Do you still plan to return to Ferelden the day after tomorrow?"

Leliana nodded. "Yes."

"Then tomorrow we will take tea together." She glanced at the bedroom door. "I am sure the Hero of Ferelden would prefer that to dinner, yes?"

Leliana smiled at the empress. She did like Celene. The woman had to maintain a certain manner, but beneath it all, she could be a very warm person. "I am sure he will be flattered by your consideration."

Glancing at Morrigan before turning back to face her, the Empress asked, "You will not mind if Morrigan and the delightful Cian join us?"

This was not a question and Leliana chuckled, realising that Celene still played her game. "Of course not, Celene."

Leliana smiled warmly at Morrigan and enjoyed the interested spark in Celene's eyes. Morrigan remained seemingly impassive, but Leliana had travelled with her long enough, had witnessed enough of her moods to recognise the humour in those yellow eyes.


	34. The Golden City

The Golden City

It took them all afternoon to reach the plateau behind the chantry, twice as long as it should have. Aedan did not curse his weakness; he simply took his rest as required, sitting in a shadow if he could find it. He looked to his side on occasion and often felt surprise at Leliana's presence. Her silence echoed his and he forgot now and again that she accompanied him. But of course she had. She had refused to let him go out alone.

He had been disoriented when he woke up in the palace the day before. But he had woken up in so many different places lately, it had almost seemed usual to be disoriented. The sense went along with the oddness of himself, the numbness, the silence in his head.

Since he had awakened in the farmhouse his awareness of self had slowly started to return, but he hadn't fully believed he'd left the fade until a properly human urge had caused him to seek the washroom. You didn't have to relieve yourself in dreams.

Everyone had wanted to talk to him, but a lethargy born of his weakness and his oddly muted emotions had left him apathetic towards conversation. He did not want to dwell or brood either, he simply wanted not to think. Of all the after effects of their ordeal, this one he had come to almost appreciate, this new ability he had acquired to sit blankly and without thought. He found it restful and tried to indulge in it as often as possible, much to the displeasure of his wife.

As he rested beneath the shade of a tree, Aedan realised they stood outside the tavern where they had shared lunch on Leliana's birthday. He glanced at her again and noticed her gaze rested upon him. Her blue eyes held the now familiar sadness and her face seemed almost impassive with it, immobile. He looked away. Though he desperately wished, again, to be alone, he knew he would have to talk to Leliana soon or at least listen to her talk. He understood that she needed him to be himself again, or at least close to, that she needed someone to lean on. Though she had not been chained to a wall and punished, she had suffered her own torture.

Leliana turned to regard the inn and her face moved through a myriad of emotions. One of the things Aedan had often appreciated about his wife, besides her beauty, was the fact that she so rarely wore one of her masks when around him. Before coming to Val Royeaux she had started to and it had saddened him in a way he'd not been able to express. He knew the divide between them had widened and it seemed cruel that fate had devised this ordeal in order to take him from her permanently, to excise her from his heart. But though he still felt numb, Aedan refused to believe love could be turned off so simply. He knew it was still there and he would find it again. He hoped that Leliana would have the patience to wait for him… again.

After leaving the shade of the inn they rested briefly behind the chantry before attempting the path and Aedan had to stop twice before they reached the ledge, feeling dizzy, lightheaded and tired. But the view remained the same and they had arrived in plenty of time to witness the sunset.

They sat and Aedan closed his eyes, letting his body hang forward on the railing as he sort of napped and just enjoyed the muted sounds of the city far below them. He forgot for a while where he was and who sat next to him as he just drifted through his thoughts. They would leave Val Royeaux the next day and spend perhaps six days aboard _The Blazing Sun _again. This time the idea of being confined did not worry him, the restlessness had fled. He thought he could quite contentedly sit on the deck and stare at the horizon for six days. But he could not do that to Leliana. He had to talk to her. She hurt, the sadness in her eyes touched him a little more every time he looked at her and he felt the twinge of it in his own heart and so he had tried not to look at her at all. He didn't want to relive the pain, hers or his. Perhaps this numbness was of his own devise? If he really wanted to, could he feel? He didn't want to.

Opening his eyes, Aedan glanced over at her and instead of looking at the beautiful woman at his side, he looked at his Leliana. His heart. The woman who had given him all of herself. Where did she get her strength? He reached out to touch her cheek and she blinked as if returning from her own thoughts and turned to him.

He said quietly, "I can listen, Leli, even if I currently lack the desire to converse." He took her hand. "I am here for you."

Leliana simply looked at him for a few minutes; the expression on her face clearly stated that she just did not know where to begin. Aedan understood. He also knew that she needed to talk, despite the fact he did not feel the urge himself, he knew she did. He couldn't avoid her company or conversation forever, not if he hoped she would stay and he really, really hoped she would stay by his side. Aedan knew he would be lost without her. Truly lost.

"Aedan, I don't know where to start."

"Start at the beginning."

Leliana began to tell him about Marjolaine's plans and how Morrigan had intervened. She described her conversations with her former mentor, her horror at seeing him in the dungeon, her own form of imprisonment and her attempt to kill Paul Le Trene. As befitted her training as a minstrel, she imbued her tale with all the suspense, drama and emotion she had felt and he felt her anguish and pain. He flinched at it, dropping her hand, and she stopped talking.

Blowing out a sharp breath he said, "Don't stop."

"Aedan, I…"

"Leli, I don't know if I'll ever be the same again, but I can't hide forever. I'll remember how much it hurts one day," Maker, don't let it be this soon, "and," he swallowed, "I'll need you then. As I always do. You need me now."

Her tears came so suddenly the shock of it nearly rocked him. He had never seen Leliana so completely swept away by emotion. He quickly drew her into his arms and he stroked her hair. She raised her tear stained face to his and asked a question he'd never heard her ask.

"Why? What did we ever do to deserve such a fate? Why are we not farmers, or merchants? Why do we not lead quiet and uninteresting lives?"

He had no answer for her, and not simply because he currently lacked words. He'd wondered the same thing over and again as the years had passed. He'd often walked about with the refrain, 'why me?' inside his head. He disliked being a Warden; he felt he had no control over his fate. He had not known that Leliana felt the same, and to hear her sound so lost, it scared him, he felt the fear, it unfurled inside of him.

This was not the discussion he expected to have up here; he'd not expected to talk at all. But the peace of their surroundings, what this place meant to both of them, together and separately, it prompted him and he tried to answer her, he tried to reach out to her.

"Leli, why don't we?"

She frowned at him and he tried again.

"Let's be farmers, or merchants, or whatever you want to be. I don't want to hold a sword again. I don't want to spill any more blood. I just want to go home, to Highever. I want to wake up every day with my children in my bed," he looked at her, "and my wife at my side."

Sorrow began to filter through him and the pain tried to come with it. He pushed it away, he wasn't ready yet. He took a deep breath. Leliana looked at him in amazement. Then she looked wistful and he felt that too, he felt his heart twist. His head began to spin slowly and he reached out to grasp the railing, taking several deep breaths.

Leliana remained silent until he'd calmed, her hand on his shoulder. When his heart settled and his mind felt at peace again, he continued.

"What else? Tell me more, Leli."

"Are you sure, we'll have six days at sea to talk."

"No. I don't want to take this home with us." Suddenly it seemed important to him that they leave their nightmares in Val Royeaux.

"We'll carry it for a long time yet," she said softly.

Aedan dropped his head. "I know. I feel like a petulant child." He did, with his lack of control over his fate, his jumbled feelings. Glancing over at her, he took in the clear blue eyes, the radiant skin, the sunset hair. "You are so beautiful."

He felt it then; he felt something, a nudge. He remembered the love, the passion, just as he remembered the fury and the rage. But the little teases he'd felt all day paled into comparison to what he knew he used to hold inside. "I want to feel it again, but I'm scared," he whispered.

Leliana frowned lightly at him and he slipped his arm about her shoulders. The warmth of her against his side felt good and comforting. He felt the familiar strength of her.

"I will be here when you are ready."

"You should have picked Zevran or Alistair, Leliana. I don't know why you chose me." As the words left his lips a sigh caught him, as if he'd said something he'd always wanted to say.

"The heart knows what the heart wants."

Aedan wanted to kiss her then, but he couldn't. An awkwardness gripped him and he felt shy, embarrassed by his state, by the way he had treated her, by the very fact she still sat at his side. He looked out over the view instead. The sun had just touched the water and the light of it suffused the bay, the harbour and the city with an amber glow.

"It could be the Golden City," he whispered.

He heard a soft gasp beside him and he quickly turned his head towards Leliana. He realised what he'd said might have seemed blasphemous to her and he apologised. "I'm sorry, Leli."

"No, no, Aedan, I thought the very same thing the very first time I saw the sun set here like this." She turned her face towards his. "This is why I chose you, Aedan. We see things the same way."

Aedan felt his lips curve into a proper smile and he rejoiced with it. He hugged her tightly. "Oh, Leli," he whispered to her hair. "Why do I have to keep nearly dying to realise how much you mean to me. I am a fool."

"No, my love, you are just a man."

Emotions stirred his heart then, many of them all at once and he couldn't pick between them. He took a breath and let her go and cast his eyes towards the darkening horizon. The feelings, the teases, were a little stronger, but muddled and as his eyes focused on nothing, he explored them one by one. By far the strongest was sorrow and he didn't want to feel it. He tried to shut himself down again. Pain overwhelmed him then, the pain of loss and injury intermingled.

Aedan rubbed at the scar on his forehead and then he touched the bridge of his nose, exploring the new contour, the slight ridge on one side. His fingers dropped to the faint line on his cheek, a new scar, but one that would likely fade, unlike those on his back, arms and ribs. He'd not seen his back, he'd avoided all mirrors. He'd felt it though, he'd reached behind himself and had traced the raised lines. If he closed his eyes and thought about it, he could still hear the whip. In fact, any loud and sharp crack as they had walked through the city had caused him to flinch. The pain he felt flared as his thoughts moved across his scars and Aedan caught his breath as his heart began to hammer in his chest and his head swam.

He gripped Leliana's hand and her eyes widened, her expression became concerned as he started gasping for breath. He felt as if he was falling suddenly and he pushed back from the railing and scrambled to his feet, stumbling backwards. He hit the cliff wall behind them and tried to use it for support, felt the rough surface of the rock scrape against his back through the shirt, felt the pain again and the sounds returned and the smells and the laughter, and the whispered voice, the single word that made his skin itch and burn. "Sunshine." He still felt as if he would fall and he grabbed at Leliana as she moved to his side.

"Leli!"

He held her tightly and closed his eyes and she wrapped her arms about him and shushed him quietly. The sense of falling had slowly ebbed, but he felt nauseas now and he sat slowly against the rocky outcropping, sliding down the stone until his bottom hit the ground.

Leliana crouched down next to him, her eyes dark with concern. "Are you alright?" she asked.

"I felt like I was falling."

"Can you stand? We should start back before it gets too dark."

Aedan leaned heavily on her as they descended the path once more and tried not to think about the pain or the sound or the smells or anything at all. He withdrew, he shut down. He felt Leliana's gaze on him from time to time as they walked through the lamp lit city and he squeezed the hand he held in his, but could no longer find the words.

The nightmares found him again that night and by the morning he felt numb once more.

Leliana packed for them while he sat on the balcony, his mind feeling as if it was clouded by a fog. She had told him the night before that the panic, the sense of falling, was a reaction to all he had been through and that she'd experienced something similar herself before. She had told him it might happen again. Aedan felt wrung out and weak once more and a heavy depression settled over his shoulders. He had thought he might be alright as he sat on the cliff the night before, he'd almost felt… normal. Muted, yes, but like himself. Now he did not.

A step had him turning about and Cian came out onto the wide balcony. They regarded one another in silence a while, cool blue eyes meeting cool blue eyes. They boy spoke at last.

"Good bye, Aedan."

"Good bye, Cian."

Cian seemed to hesitate and Aedan reached out a hand. The boy took it and they held hands for a few moments. Cian then went back inside and Morrigan replaced him. She stepped over to the railing and gazed out at the view, the harbour, the city, the chantry and the cliff behind. She stood so quietly that Aedan actually slipped back into his stupor and forgot her until she addressed him.

"Aedan."

He did not like to be looked down upon by her for some reason and so, pushing himself to his feet, Aedan stepped to the rail and leaned out, tentatively. He looked down as if tempting fate, curious to see if the dizziness might reclaim him, if his reaction the night before had simply been a new fear of heights. Nothing happened, he remained calm, numb.

Clearing his throat, he said softly, "Thank you, Morrigan."

She turned to face him and nodded her head, her eyes curious and warm. After a pause she said, "I have a wonder, Aedan, if you would indulge me."

Frowning lightly, knowing she would not easily be dissuaded from conversation, he nodded and gestured for her to continue. He would be on the ship soon enough an able to hide once again.

"Do you remember giving me Flemeth's Grimoire?"

Aedan sighed. As if he had tried to hide already, Morrigan had figuratively grabbed his ankle and pulled him out of his hole. He knew what came next. "Yes, Morrigan, I do."

"You did not kill my mother, did you?"

Aedan closed his eyes. The dizziness threatened and his fingers closed over the stone balustrade. Another failure, another debt unpaid. At the time it had made sense not to kill the swamp witch… she had saved his and Alistair's lives, she had kept the Grey Warden treaties safe, she had given them hospitality and aid. She had spoken to him reasonably and they had reached an accord. Of course, he had not killed Marjolaine or Anora either and they had both come back to haunt him. Would Flemeth be next? The lightheaded faded quickly, thankfully, and he found his voice.

"No, Morrigan, I did not." He turned to her then, appraised her carefully before adding, "But you knew that, didn't you."

Her amber coloured eyes narrowed and she tilted her head slightly. "Honestly, I was not sure. You have surprised me before."

Aedan snorted softly and turned to look over his shoulder. Leliana sat on the couch with Cian, talking, no… singing. She had her harp in her lap.

"He has enjoyed her company. I did not expect Leliana to be so… accommodating."

Frowning again, Aedan almost said, 'You do not know her very well then,' and then he realised that Morrigan did not know Leliana very well and neither did his wife know the witch. They had been companions only, uneasy comrades, respectful of one another, but separate and distant.

Instead he said, "It is her nature."

"Yes, it is."

"Morrigan, I'm sorry. If I could change the past, if I had known then what I do now," If he'd been less naive, idealistic and stubborn… He shook his head, he shrugged. Marjolaine he would kill, Anora he would kill, but Flemeth? Perhaps he still had a kernel of mercy in his heart after all.

"You would still let her go."

Aedan sighed. "Yes, I probably would."

"She is out there, Aedan. She will come for me and my son. I do not know when, I can only hope that Cian will be able to give me fair warning."

Aedan glanced up at her. "Has he…?"

"He might have. It is why I asked."

Nodding, Aedan reached to rub at the scar on his forehead. Morrigan followed the action and he stopped. She had been there the night he'd received the wound. She had saved his life for the second time on that occasion.

"Morrigan, I am in your debt."

Her eyebrows raised and she opened her mouth, but he waved her to silence.

"If Flemeth," if Flemeth what? He blew out a sigh. "If she… Morrigan, if you call me, I will come." He knew she and Cian both had the means to reach him through the Fade. Somehow the three of them would always be connected, possibly because of their son, the child with a soul of an old god and abilities neither of them understood.

"I do not know if, or how," Morrigan hesitated this time. Her brows drew down and she fiddled with the material of her dress. "Why would you say such a thing? I would not expect…"

"Because we are friends, Morrigan, and that is what friends do."


	35. Reports from the City

Reports from the City

Alistair desperately wanted to rest, or even time to just sit and consider what had passed, who had passed, but too much needed to be done upon his return to the city. He kissed his wife and hugged her close, he kissed Aedan's children and he hugged Luke again for good measure. It felt good to do these simple, almost normal things and Alistair let each person go reluctantly, dropping another kiss to Brenna's cheek before whispering, "I will find a way to be with you before I leave again."

"You have to leave again?"

"The Roads must be cleared and mapped and we have to find the other entrances, somewhere beyond the southern edge of the city."

"I will stay here then, wait for you."

"Brenna, it might not be safe here."

"Alistair, I am standing in a room full of Grey Wardens and soldiers. Where could be safer?"

With a rueful grin, Alistair acknowledged her statement. "I must talk with Peter and Oghren. I will see you soon." Looking at Luke he jerked his head back towards the gathering of Wardens and soldiers. "Let's attend to business, shall we?"

He noticed that although Luke looked tired, dejected and just so very young, the brown eyes held his steadily and that the Warden seemed prepared to continue with his duty.

Alistair rejoined the weary men and nodded towards Peter, Oghren and Garrett. "Captain, Commander, Warden, we all require rest, but if we could hold a brief meeting first, we can hopefully sleep a little easier."

The men nodded at one another and Alistair indicated the collection of benches and they took a seat, many of the other Wardens sitting, standing and reclining about them. They had just fought an awful battle together, now was not the time to stand on ceremony.

Alistair turned to Peter first. "What news of the city?"

"The peddler has not been seen and now, with your victory over the Mage, I assume he will not be, Thank the Maker."

Here everyone observed a moment of silence as their thoughts likely ranged over the costs of war and the battle itself. Alistair raised his gaze from his lip and gestured for his captain to continue.

"We have found no further traces of the amulets," Peter hesitated, "On living folk. The last patrol to report back brought news of a warehouse full of corpses. That area is usually deserted at this time of year and, well, the smell of that quarter of the city successfully hid the odor of what was found within." Here Peter paused and indicated Nicholas.

The mage stepped forward. "Your majesty." He nodded politely and then continued with his part in Peter's report. "The corpses within were quite badly decomposed, but the rigor of the facial bones and the hands and feet would suggest they died in great pain. I fear they may have been earlier subjects or simply perhaps a collection of" here he hesitated and creased his brow, "failed experiments. They would likely have been frenzied, mindless, for all intents and purposes – ghouls." The mage's voice took on a musing tone next. "The darkspawn have always made use of ghouls in the past, used them rather than discard them. Their disposal in this way is something new."

A quiet murmur rippled through the assembled men and Alistair did not need words to interpret the meaning. Nearly everything about their recent dealings with the darkspawn included something new. He tried to suppress the shudder that wanted to travel down his spine and felt his skin move beneath the stiff dampness of his undershirt. As soon as this meeting ended he wanted to get out of his armour, wash and put on a clean shirt, if nothing else.

Alistair blew out a sharp breath. Fatigue pulled at every muscle and his mind felt a little numb. He tried to process these new facts and with the losses, of innocent citizens and soldiers, he could only currently summon a small amount of relief at the thought they had killed the Mage and hopefully stopped this tainted plague in its tracks. On and off throughout this ordeal he had called Aedan to mind. He had questioned his brother's motivations and his beliefs at almost every turn, but now he simply commiserated with his absent friend. This was too much for one man, but how did one share such a burden? As a King and a Warden he now felt compelled to carry it, but knew he could not. He had a country to rule and a people to serve. He had to let it go and let it be shared.

Peter cleared his throat and Alistair realised he'd fallen into a glum silence. He glanced up.

"Two breaches in the city wall were found in the vicinity of the warehouse. One in the wall itself and another beneath it, through a disused sewer system," the captain informed him.

Alistair's mind focused on one fact: Why, when that quarter of the city already lacked good hygiene at times, did they have a disused sewer system? He blinked at his Captain and said, "I need to find a new Arl of Denerim."

Peter blinked back at him. "Ah, yes, your majesty."

"The sewer, did they find tunnels leading to the Deep Roads or…"

"No, nothing like that. It merely led to a spillway outside the city walls. I'd say it provided an entrance and nothing more."

Something else to deal with. Alistair turned to Oghren and saw the dwarf's eyes were closed. He thought to wake him briefly, to relay instructions for the next patrols and then he remembered the last time they had slept – in the prison cells of the Mage. Oghren and two of the soldiers had woken to find amulets around their necks. They had been removed, but no one knew how long they had been there. Turning back to Peter he enquired after Bann Sighard's health.

"He is well, no sign of the taint."

"Two of the men and Oghren woke up with amulets around their necks." Alistair took a breath, held it, debated with himself and then made his decision. "I'd like the three of them confined until we can confirm they are healthy."

Peter looked nervous and Alistair could not blame him. Confining Oghren would be… interesting.

Thinking on it a moment, Alistair added, "The Commander can use his room here at the Fort, put the soldiers in the smaller room next door and," he dropped his eyes, "lock the doors after them, please. Quietly."

Rubbing his eyes, Alistair wrapped up. "Alright, I don't know about all of you, but I can't think straight. We'll sort out who goes where after some sleep." He looked up with a tired smile. "Thank you, Peter, everyone. See you in a few hours."

When he awoke several hours later, Alistair felt refreshed. He'd had the chance to lie down on a soft bed, change into clean clothing and cuddle his wife. He felt human again. Now nature called and his stomach rumbled. Time to face the world once again. Rolling out of bed, he winced as his bare toes touched the cool stone floor and then he luxuriated in the sensation of having no boots on his feet, of having the air circulate and tickle his toes and heels. Simple pleasures. Brenna lay on the bed still, asleep and looking so peaceful he had not the heart to wake her. The children's nightmares and dreams combined with her own worries had robbed her of sleep lately; she needed the rest almost as much as he had.

An odd tableau awaited him in the dining room. Sitting within a circle of children on the floor, Rory, Grace, and little Aedan and Alistair, was Zevran. The elf looked comfortable and bemused as he sought to deter Alistair from crawling into his lap. Luke wandered over to the group then, plopped down to a cross legged position and said, "Who wants cookies?"

The children immediately turned their attentions to the young Warden and Rory actually bowled him over in his enthusiasm. Zevran laughed and reached out to tickle the back of Grace's neck, eliciting a squeal of delight.

Alistair blinked and shook his head. Had he wandered into the Fade? Brenna stepped to his side and he took in her smile. "Zevran is playing with children. Tell me I am dreaming."

Brenna chuckled and reached for his hand. "After all you have seen in your life, my love, you think that is strange?"

"Um, yes?"

Zevran chose that moment to look up and he winked. "I am conducting a mission of diversionary tactics, Alistair, nothing more."

"Diversionary…"

"Felsi is _visiting_ with Oghren." Luke provided.

The way he said 'visiting' gave Alistair every clue to the nature of the… visit. He raised a brow.

Zevran elaborated, as Zevran would. "The dwarf did not take kindly to being confined."

Ah! Everything made sense and Alistair felt a proper grin stretch his mouth. Then he became aware of his wife standing next to him. The woman he had barely managed to kiss before he'd succumbed to exhaustion hours before. Now that he was free of the sweat and grime and taint, he could smell the soap in her hair and he flushed lightly, his thoughts heading in an entirely un-king like direction. He glanced at Brenna and she looked at him and they exchanged a shy smile.

"Seize the moment, my friend, everything is well in hand and will remain so for the next… ten minutes?"

A laugh barked out of Luke and he quickly clapped his hand over his mouth. Alistair saw the realization dawn on the young man's face. Yes, he had just laughed at the expense of his king. Alistair fought his blush and tugged on his wife's hand, leading her back to his quarters, calling softly to Zevran. "I think we will be a little longer than that."

When he emerged from his room for the second time, every eye in the dining room fell upon him and Alistair instinctively looked down to make sure he' fastened all of his buttons properly. Andraste's flaming sword, did they all know what he'd just been doing? A further wink from Zevran confirmed that they probably did. Alistair sighed, squared his shoulders and cleared his throat. In as regal a manner as possible he walked over to his Captain and asked for a report.

Now that everyone had had a proper amount of sleep and rest, a formality began to seep back onto proceedings. Or perhaps Peter simply meant to make up for being one of the grinning faces that greeted his second entrance to the dining room. Either way, the bow, the respectful, "Your majesty," and the crisp and business like tone of his captain helped to soothe his ruffled feathers.

The warehouse had been purged of its grisly cargo, the bodies burned and most of the contents of the building swept clean. The sewers had been thoroughly mapped and the parchment was spread before him on the table. Nicholas prepared to give Oghren and the soldiers a clean bill of health, he'd found no trace of the taint or anything other than injuries they may have sustained in battle. This news Alistair greeted with a deep sigh of relief. Though he knew at one time his dwarven commander had harbored an ambition to be a Grey Warden, it had been a scheme to escape the responsibility of his growing family, a last ditch effort to duck his new found maturity. Now that the impulse had passed, Oghren often expressed his gratitude towards Aedan and the fact the Warden Commander had chased him back to Denerim with his tail between his legs.

Garrett stood and bowed. "Your majesty, the Wardens are ready to start the first foray into the Deep Roads. We will split into two groups. A team to stay down the usual time required to map a section and a team to follow any logical paths to the surface in and around Denerim."

Alistair acknowledged these plans with a satisfied nod. "Thank you, Garrett."

Peter cleared his throat and Alistair returned his attention to the captain. "As soon as Oghren returns, we can dispatch a patrol outside the city to scout out the other entrances to the Deep Roads."

Another nod acknowledged this plan. His men had been busy while he slept and… spent time with his wife, and Alistair found himself comforted by the knowledge he had such good people working at his side. Voices sounded at the end of the dining room and two men walked in, side by side, deep in conversation. Alistair recognised them both instantly in the shadowed light of the far corner and strode immediately over to greet them.

"Teagan, Fergus. It is good to see you."

Both men smiled and crossed their arms in a formal bow before stepping forward to exchange fond arm clasps and shoulder thumps.

Alistair turned to the Teyrn first. "Fergus, you are just arrived from Highever?"

"Last night, your majesty, and I have all the men I could muster with me."

"I hope they will not have to draw their blades while they are here, and I further hope this news does not dampen their enthusiasm. But thank you for answering my call, Fergus." Alistair gripped the man's arm and bowed his head in respect. The Teyrn must have left Highever within hours of receiving his message. The quickness of his response warmed Alistair's heart. But, of course, he would expect nothing less of Aedan's brother.

Alistair turned to Teagan. "Teagan, words just can't adequately express my thanks for all you have done for Brenna while I fought underground." Brenna had told him briefly of Teagan's tireless efforts on his behalf, handling the endless reports, correspondence and paperwork that normally fell upon a king's desk. Things that would have looked entirely foreign to him at the moment - his mind still dwelt within the Deep Roads to some extent.

"Alistair you did what you must. Ferelden is fortunate to have a Warden for a King, I think. With Leliana returning next week, I will be happy to retire back to Redcliffe." Teagan looked down then and smiled at the small boy plucking at Fergus's pant legs.

Alistair watched as Fergus reached down to collect his nephew. Though the resemblance between Rory and Aedan was striking, he knew Fergus felt it more keenly, particularly in light of having lost his own son. The Teyrn's face gentled and he kissed the small boy's cheek. "Ah, Rory, how is our little warrior?"

Rory grinned and wrapped his arms about his uncle's neck and Fergus turned with his burden to greet Luke with a half hug, the boy between them preventing more. "Luke, I am happy to see you well."

"Hallo Fergus."

Alistair felt the familiar twinge of jealousy as he watched Fergus fuss over his nephews and niece, his brother's children. Despite Aedan's continued absences, the Couslands always managed to look the picture of a happy family. Leliana took the children to see Fergus at least twice every year and the Teyrn always spent extra time in the city when he came to Denerim.

Luke looked a little dazed as he asked Teagan for clarification on Leliana's return. "They are returning so soon? Maker, how long were we down there?" Alistair felt the same confusion. He knew days had passed. Luke's face creased into a frown. "Will you come with me to greet his ship, Fergus? We will have to tell him about Wyman, I don't think I can do it alone."

Alistair put a hand on Luke's shoulder. "We will all be there, Luke." Blowing out a sigh, Alistair wondered what Aedan's state of mind would be and how damaging this new attack would be to his hopefully somewhat restored presence. "Let's see if we can't finish cleaning up this mess before the Warden Commander gets home."

An exchange of smiles followed his comment and Alistair felt his spirits lift with those of his friends. A bellow preceded Oghren's release and the dwarf stumped into the room and swept up his children. After fussing over them and handing them off to his somewhat flustered and disheveled wife, he walked up to Alistair and said, "Well, your majesty, are ya headin' back underground with yer Wardens or leading yer soldiers south the city?"

Alistair glanced from one group to the other and felt truly confused for a moment. For the past week he had been a Warden and a King, two roles he had previously combined in name only since the Siege of Denerim. He looked at the familiar faces of all the men standing about, the Wardens and the soldiers; he had just shed blood with all of them, side by side.

"My place is up here, Commander, with my city, my people." Turning to acknowledge Garrett, he added, "The Wardens are in good hands."

Garrett bowed and as Warden to Warden, Alistair returned the gesture.

Alistair reached for his armour and turned to face Teagan. "When the city is secure, I will sit on my throne again."

"I would not expect anything less of you, Alistair. Maker watch over you."

"And you."

Turning to Fergus, Alistair asked, "Would you and your men join us south of the city? My hope is that we will do nothing more than locate holes and fill them, but perhaps they will feel they have not come all this way for nothing?"

Fergus grinned and bowed. "Of course, Alistair. The men of Highever would be honored to join their King in such an endeavour." The Teyrn's eyes sparkled with humour.

The men separated. Wardens clasped soldiers' arms and soldiers patted Wardens on the shoulder and the two companies formed up and made ready to move to their separate tasks.

Luke and Zevran stood with the Wardens and Oghren stood with his king and the soldiers and Alistair looked from man to man and then nodded to Luke and Zevran. "I'll see you in a few days."

"That you will, my friend," Zevran replied. The former assassin and Ferelden's youngest Warden would be in the short range Warden team, the cleanup crew. They would return to the surface in time to meet Aedan's ship.

And so once again men left the Fort in search of darkspawn. The pace was more relaxed and everyone felt healed and well rested. While a sadness for those they had lost pervaded the atmosphere, in general every face wore a smile and every voice held humour. The worse was over; a light had appeared at the end of the tunnel.

Alistair and Oghren lead their men through the city towards the gates and many of the citizens of Denerim flocked the cobbled streets and lanes to greet their king and his army. The men exchanged smiles and words with the people as they passed and Alistair couldn't help feeling relief that they cheered rather than jeered. They saw him as the savior of their city, not the king who had lost so many lives to the plans of the Mage. Though the dead would be mourned, they reveled in their own lives. A lesson to be learned, he thought.

The armies walked south for a day, covering only ten miles as they spread themselves as far as possible and walked slowly enough that the men could look around every rock and tree and stop to inspect every cave and crevice. Alistair felt no touch of the taint and the feel of the late summer sunshine and the breath of fresh air across his cheeks did more to restore him than all the sleep and food at the Fort might have. Men were not made to live underground.

The campfires that night were surrounded by weary but satisfied men. Flutes made appearances and voices lifted in story and song. Food was actually cooked rather than eaten cold or as they could grab it from packs and Oghren had managed to bring some ale.

After handing out watch assignments, the dwarven commander flopped down next to Alistair and Fergus. Oghren handed him the ale and Alistair took it without hesitation. Though his friend often had dubious tastes in alcohol, preferences that might kill another, Alistair felt at ease enough to indulge and so he did, though sparingly. He passed the bottle to Fergus and leaned back against the log they had dragged forward for such a purpose.

Oghren took the bottle again from the Teyrn and mused, "If I had been tainted from that Amulet, would ya have tried to make me a Warden or put me to rest with the other blighters?"

Alistair blinked at the dwarf. "Yes, Oghren, it's been a fine day and I am feeling well. Yourself?"

Oghren laughed is deep, gravelly laugh and Alistair and Fergus joined in. Though they'd eaten a hearty meal, one of the dark leather strips appeared at the corner of his mouth and Oghren chewed it and moved his lips over it as he rephrased his question. "Would you have given me a choice?"

Heaving a small sigh, Alistair acquiesced to the conversation. "Yes, Oghren, I would have. I could not offer such a thing to just any man or woman, but I think Garrett would have been amenable to making it to you and the two soldiers who were also exposed. Trained men." He had almost added, 'valuable men', but stopped himself. Every life was valuable, but not every person could be a Grey Warden. Some might have considered it a fate worse than death. "Not everyone survives the Joining. The offer would not have been made lightly. Do you think you might have accepted?"

"That's what I kept askin' m'self and I don't know. I'm happy I didn't have to make the choice. Either way was a death sentence."

The dwarf did not know all the Grey Warden secrets, the reduced number of years or what swilled inside the tainted cup. The idea that not everyone survived the ritual had taken hold and spread, despite their efforts to keep such news quiet. But servants at Amaranthine could not help but notice the empty chairs after each ritual and the somber faces of those who tried to celebrate their new status as Wardens. In the end, Aedan had decided it acted as an effective deterrent to all but those prepared to accept even that first challenge and they had let the rumour fly.

Alistair raised a brow. "Had you survived the Joining you might have lived to a ripe old age, Oghren."

"Heh!" Oghren heaved out a sort of chuckle. "Felsi might have killed me long before that, Alistair. She'd have figured I did it on purpose." The dwarf winked, swallowed his strip of nug and lifted the bottle to his lips to noisily drain it to the last drop.

The following day passed without incident or discovery. Their third day out from the city Alistair awoke with a familiar roiling in his gut and sweat creeping down the back of his neck. He sensed the taint, darkspawn. He sat up and called out. Fergus rolled over and sat up beside him, rubbing at his eyes blearily.

Alistair turned to the Teyrn and said, "I think we'll be doing more than filling holes today, Fergus. Let's get everyone up and ready."


	36. Playing Games

Playing Games

Luke looked up from his cards when he heard Anders snort. He glanced at the card he had put down and then back at the Mage, his brows raised. "What?"

"Are you sure you want to do that?"

Luke sighed. No, he wasn't sure, but he could never tell when Anders bluffed him either. Putting the rest of his cards down he said, "I think I prefer playing with Rory."

Nate laughed and Anders couldn't help making a comment.

"Does he let you win?"

Luke tried not to grin, but he couldn't help himself. "How do you three keep talking me into playing cards with you?"

"Because you like a challenge, yes?" Zevran grinned at him.

Nate gathered up the cards and began to shuffle.

Luke looked from Anders to Nate to Zevran and heaved a dramatic sigh. The other two Wardens and one elf laughed and Nate dealt him in to another hand.

Zevran raised his brow as he sorted his cards and Luke tried to ignore the gesture. Nothing, absolutely nothing the rogue did or said could be taken at face value during a game of cards, or at any other time for the most part. Zevran did not win every hand though; he won a suspiciously even amount. Luke suspected his Antivan friend won exactly as many rounds of cards as he liked – enough to line his pockets with coin, not enough to antagonize his company. Luke might have been satisfied with winning more than one hand a game, and sometimes he did, through sheer luck of the draw and an almost inhuman effort not to let his face betray his cards. But, then, perhaps Zevran pitied him there too and worked at his side, flanking as always, to ensure his victory. Luke studied his friend now and the elf winked at him.

With a combination of a grin and a scowl, Luke returned his attention to his own cards and began sorting the bad from the truly terrible. Anders would bluff boldly with such a hand, they had all thrown curses at the mage upon seeing a truly useless gathering of cards hit the table just before their coin was swept into his ready pouch. The 'night' had advanced, however, and Luke felt weariness plucking away at the corners of his mind. He was too tired to set and keep his features regular and so he played a different sort of game. Letting his face show his displeasure at his hand, he tossed in his fee and let his mind drift as the others began to try and fool one another.

He thought about his little brother and sister. Luke had enjoyed playing with his younger siblings two days before. It had felt like such a normal thing to be doing. Hiding cookies from Rory while the boy clambered over him, fingers searching out pockets and folds of clothing, and playing 'tickle chase' with Grace were simple amusements that always made him smile. He could only just remember being three or four years old and being so easily amused. After all the confusion and the turmoil of the previous week, sitting on the cool stone of the floor and playing pass the parcel – a cookie wrapped several times over in handkerchiefs – had been both soothing and entertaining.

Their talk of dreams had been less than soothing, however. Rory had piped up first, wrapping his arms about Luke's neck and whispering in his ear. "I dreamed a boy like me, Luke. It was my birthday." He leaned back and frowned then, speaking more loudly. "But the cake was pink!" Rory made a sound of disgust and cast a glance at Grace as if to indicate the colour of the cake had been her fault. "And daddy got lost in the maze."

Luke put disentangled Rory's arms and put the small boy down. He looked about for Brenna, hoping to ask if she had any further clarification of Rory's dreams, but she and Alistair were talking quietly and he did not want to interrupt them. Instead he returned his attention to the little boy who kept tugging his hand and sat next to him on the floor.

"What maze, Rory?"

The little boy shrugged. "In the palace."

The palace did not have a maze. Luke knew of several estates that boasted an arrangement of hedgerows, though he'd yet to wander one himself. He had to wonder how Rory even knew what a maze was. And did the little boy seem to be speaking more clearly, in better defined sentences? Though he had started talking early, no doubt in response to Leliana's constant storytelling and use of language, Rory had always been a quiet boy who only spoke when necessary. To have him volunteer information caused Luke's stomach to feel a little unsettled. These dreams were obviously important to the boy, or he would not have shared them.

Rory continued. "Then it got all misty and I was scared!"

Luke pulled him into his lap and Grace pouted at the attention and sidled up to them and tried to perch on Luke's bent knee.

Rory continued. "And Daddy was really hurt, he couldn't walk fast. The other boy tried to help him." His voice took on a musing tone. "I dreamed about the other boy… before? He knows my name."

To Luke it sounded like the sort of dream, however disturbing, that a young boy might have when he missed his father. But Aedan was so often gone and Rory had not talked of, nor had he heard Leliana mention Rory having had nightmares before. He thought it more likely Rory might dream of his mother. Surely he would miss her more keenly, she had barely left his side in all of his nearly four years.

Turning to Grace, Luke slipped his arm about her and said, "What about you, Gracie, I hear you dreamed of me?" After the question left his lips he pondered the wisdom of asking. Brenna had looked very disturbed.

The little girl nodded vigorously, her blonde curls bouncing about. "I dream of you lots!"

Why did a cold finger just creep down his spine?

"You fight like daddy!" Grace clapped her hands together, her grey eyes wide and bright. "And I knowed you coming home, I tell Aunty Brenna."

The fact that Grace's grasp of grammar more befitted her age did not comfort Luke. Instead he recalled a series of dreams he'd had over the past two and a half years, ones that had not disturbed him like the nightmare of his tainting and Joining. He talked with Grace in these dreams sometimes, or simply played with her or watched her play. He dreamt of all his family on and off, but Grace more often. He'd always figured it had to do with where she had been found, how she had come to their family, or simply because they shared the bond of being adopted.

"Are your dreams scary, Gracie?" He hugged the little girl a bit closer, just in case she decided to tell him they were.

"No, I am with you."

Luke never put much stock in dreams, but again, Brenna did not seem the sort of woman to take hysterical fits. If the children's dreams had disturbed her, he believed they were of significance. But until Aedan and Leliana returned, he did not know what could be done about it. He knew Leliana did place significance in certain dreams, so she would be the best person to mention it to.

Luke had missed Leliana after moving to Amaranthine, he still did. But she wrote him wonderful letters and he saw her fairly often, more often that Aedan had. He thought that after he had finished with the cleanup efforts in Denerim, he might ask to stay in the city for a while so he could spend some time with her, and keep a closer eye on his younger siblings.

A poke in the arm drew Luke form his reverie and back to the Deep Roads.

"Pay to stay, Luke." Anders nodded at the small pile of coins sitting in the dust between the four Wardens.

Luke glanced at Anders and then at his cards and blinked. "I think I'm tired."

Nate chuckled. "It's hard to tell down here, isn't it? Always so dark." The archer nodded towards Luke's cards. "The sooner you own up to your terrible fate, the sooner we can relieve you of your coin and then we can all get some sleep. Watch change is coming up."

Luke managed to get through the hand without losing the rest of his coin and willingly relinquished his cards at the end. Watch had been peaceful, restful, almost like it was on the road. Within the gloom of the Deep Roads he could almost imagine the darkness of night surrounded him instead of endless miles of stone. He exchanged goodnights with his fellows and reclined gratefully on his bedroll.

The first day of travel had brought them back through the Mage's lair. They had split with the other Wardens in the Roads proper, outside the tunnel that led within the rock. A team of six Wardens had continued along the Road. They would begin mapping their way south. Up for speculation was the idea the Roads would intersect the Elven ruins beneath the Brecilian Forest on the way to Gwaren and more than one Warden had wondered aloud if they would meet up with Philippe before they turned about to return to the surface. The Senior Warden would be surprised to see them! Luke almost wished he was a part of that group.

His own larger group would investigate the tunnel on the other side of the Mage's laboratory. They all suspected this would lead to the surface at some point south of Denerim. Luke had tried to avert his eyes as they walked through the fire blackened cavern. It had not occurred to him that he'd have to pass back through it. The firestorm unleashed by Anders had done a fairly thorough job and unless one had been there, it would have been hard to tell what had happened. Piles of ash dotted the dark and dusted floor and the bodies of the darkspawn had disappeared. Besides reclaiming the mismatched amour and weapons, no one liked to contemplate too closely what the darkspawn might do with the bodies of the fallen.

They had run into darkspawn not long afterwards and a small skirmish had ensued. Having Anders with them had been a blessing. The small band of hurlocks and genlocks dropped beneath one of his spells and the rest of the Wardens merely finished them off. They sensed only vague traces of the taint after that and it moved away as they approached. The darkspawn ran from them – only this time it did not feel as if they were being lured into a trap. No teasing appearances, no runners, no ambushes, the creatures simply fled, unorganized and as mindless as they had been in the past.

They had encountered a small group of genlocks late that morning and Luke had not even had time to draw his blades before their two archers cut down half the number and their lead warrior and Zevran had taken out the other two in quick succession. After that the tunnel had diverged into two paths. They had explored one path for almost the entire day and had found no darkspawn. Luke had had the chance to use his weapons however.

The path had led into a wide space, another cavern too large for the reach of their torches. Michael, their lead warrior, had gone to step forward when Zevran had slipped back out of the shadows of the cavern and placed a restraining hand upon his arm.

"Unless you'd like to battle spiders, many of them, we should turn around."

Luke then placed the skittering sounds he'd heard. What he'd guessed might rocks slipping from the ceiling or walls and tumbling across the stone floor was actually many legs and a shiver gripped him. Aedan had shared many tales of the deep dwelling spiders from the Deep Roads and Luke found himself anxious to retreat. He did not want to see a spider larger than himself. Unfortunately, fate deemed he would see one that day, for as they turned, one of the Wardens lifted his torch out of the way of another and the flame caught a trace of web creeping along the ceiling and the silken strands flared brightly, carrying the voracious fire into the cavern and lighting up a scene of… horror.

Spiders dropped from the dark crevices of the ceiling, what looked to be hundreds, and Luke started sending prayers to the Maker there and then, convinced he might die beneath the multitude of legs. The majority of the spiders had fled towards the far side of the cavern, the flames licking after them, both forces moving towards a supply of air, one of the rare chimney's to the surface no doubt. A few turned in their direction and Luke experienced a new style of fighting. They danced apart, trying to keep their distance from the long legs, severing them one by one in order to close in on the bodies of their foes. Luke found his dual wield style imminently suited to fighting the creatures. He could cut and advance with both hands at once, sweeping his blades to effectively block and slice at the same time and he took to moving at Zevran's side, the pair of them cutting legs here and there and leaving the disabled spiders for their fellows to dispatch.

Luke did shove his sword deep into the carapace of a spider that tried to inch over him on the leaking stubs of its forelegs, lurching forward with a thrust of the intact back legs. The ichor that sprayed out around his blade was unlike any battle gore he had previously come across. The thin fluid arced out like a shower of black ink, thin enough to mist and stain his face beneath the openings of his helm. Luke made a sound of disgust, the smell of it assaulting his nose and the feel of it causing his skin to itch immediately. He dropped back and resumed his leg lopping duty, determined to leave the messier business of actually killing the spider to someone else.

The battle did not last long. The pile of spider corpses soon blocked the tunnel and acted as an effective deterrent to any other long legged creatures seeking to use that exit and the sound of skittering feet retreated with the light of the fire that had raced across the ceiling. As one the men dropped their shoulders in relief.

"Well, that was fun!"

As one the men turned and scowled at Anders.

"Ah, anyone need a heal?"

Surprisingly they all shook their heads. Zevran had a request, however. "Can you do anything about this itch, my friend?"

Anders looked for a moment as if he considered a verbal response, a witty retort, and then he simply chortled and let out a heal spell that blanketed the entire group, stopping the maddening itch of the spider's ichor and relieving any weary muscles. A collective sigh of relief passed through the men.

"As much as I would like to see where those spiders got themselves to, I vote we try the other path."

Not a single voice rose in disagreement with their leader and the company retraced their steps to the branch of the tunnel and spent the rest of the day without incident. Michael called for a stop and they set up camp, passed out watch assignments and Luke found himself talked into a card game once again.

As he lay there now, musing upon their journey so far, Luke decided he felt like a proper Warden. He was and had been acting as a part of a team for near on ten days now. This had been more than a routine patrol along the highway. He had coordinated with the Wardens in battle, had experienced the thrill of victory and the devastation of loss. He had been part of an effort to rid Denerim of a terrible threat. Aedan would be compelled to assign him a more regular duty now, would he not?

"Are your dreams bothering you, Luke?"

Luke started slightly at Zevran's soft voice beside him and he turned his head to study the elf, similarly stretched out on a bedroll, arms folded beneath his head.

"No, I was thinking about… everything."

Zevran raised a brow. "That will not help you sleep."

Luke snorted softly and smiled into the darkness. "Zev, when Aedan gets back, after the furor of all this," he waved a hand about in the darkness, "has died down, will you speak to him on my behalf?"

His elven companion said nothing for a moment and then his quiet voice punctuated the dim silence. "Many of the Wardens would be willing to pass comment on your competence in battle, Luke, your ability to take a proper place amongst your brethren."

"But he really listens to you, he trusts you." Luke closed his eyes and took a breath. "I'm tired of him treating me like a child. I know he means well, but I've learned all I can from his books and stories. I've learned more in the past ten days from actually being a Warden than I have in the past two years."

"That is not entirely true, my young friend. You have put into practice a lot of what you have learned, you have had the opportunity to see what works," and here Luke felt the elf's eyes resting on him, "and what does not. We all continue to learn our entire lives. Don't discard your lessons now because you have a taste for battle."

Luke felt chastened then. He bit his lips together and thanked the Maker for the darkness that hid the flush across his cheeks. He had sounded like a child. He took another breath, a slow and steady one. "You're right, Zev. I'm sorry."

"Luke, he does not hold you back simply out of love or guilt or whatever you might imagine. It is difficult for him to watch his son mature and to know that he must send you out with the Wardens to do your duty. I imagine he wishes he might never have to. But had you not become tainted you would have joined Ferelden's army, yes? You would have been using your blades one way or another. Oghren would have been just as staid a Commander." Zevran's voice took on a wistful tone then, one rarely heard. "Hold on to your youth, Luke. It does not last long. Take these new lessons and apply them to your training. He will not keep you in his arms forever. Even Aedan knows he has to let you go sometime."

Luke thanked his companion for his words, his voice full of proper gratitude. He was a lucky young man, he knew that. He had survived where others might not have, he had regained a family and siblings, he belonged to a revered order and he had the companionship of a former Antivan Crow. Not many could lay claim to even half of what he had. He fell asleep with a sense of contentment and restful ease.

When he awoke, he felt the taint. Not just the faint presence of his fellow wardens, but the overwhelming presence of darkspawn. They were close and getting closer. Every Warden was ready to move in a matter of minutes, bedding rolled, packs packed, boots laced, helms seated squarely and weapons drawn. Zevran melted from the darkness and addressed them breathlessly as a group.

"A small horde, ready your weapons, my friends, this picnic is over."

The Wardens fell into formation, Michael stepping to the front with another warrior at his side. Luke and Zevran moved in the middle of the group, their pairing taken for granted. Luke knew he would not always have the rogue at his side in battle. Zevran did not often accompany the Wardens away from Amaranthine, preferring to indulge in his unofficial roles of instructor and spy. As much as he enjoyed the elf's companionship, Zevran's commnets of the previous evening filtered back through his mind and he appreciated the words in a fresh light. He would have to learn to work with many different partners and without one at all.

His musings came to an end with the first clash of steel and he saw arrows race through their ranks to cut into the first row of oncoming darkspawn. The bash of Michael's shield echoed off the walls of the tunnels and genlocks began filtering back to them. Luke engaged and Zevran flanked and they quickly fell into the rhythm of battle. An explosion ahead threw the advancing darkspawn from their feet and Luke slipped between his fellow Wardens, Zevran at his side, to take advantage of easy targets, thrusting down with his sword, crossing his blades and kicking with his booted foot.

The horde pressed forward with a ferocity that made little sense, though Luke did not stop to contemplate it until he the sound of steel upon steel in the distance caught his attention. A break in the tide of darkspawn allowed him to exchange a quick word with Zevran.

"Do you hear fighting up ahead, behind the darkspawn?"

"Yes. I will go and investigate. Will you flank Gerard?"

Luke nodded at the instruction and moved to assist the warrior behind him, ducking out of the way of a two handed axe and the parrying clash of the Warden's two handed sword. He stepped behind the hurlock and bent low, aiming a crippling strike behind the kneecaps, his sharp steel biting through armour and leather to nick the tendons and muscles, dropping the creature beneath a massive blow from Gerard's sword that quickly ended its life. They moved forward and engaged their next foe.

The ring of steel in the distance closed in and Luke heard then the bash of a shield, a war cry and the distinctive bellow of dwarven cursing. They had come upon the King's party – this tunnel lead to the surface and they had the remainder of this horde trapped between them. Zevran slipped from shadow with a feral grin upon his lips and Luke nodded in acknowledgement of his news. A fireball erupted in the middle of the battle, sizzling the armour from the darkspawn and flaring brightly against unprotected eyes. A wave of healing rippled through them all and they pressed forward. It seemed only a matter of minutes passed, though Luke's heavy shoulders and sweat soaked undershirt belied the thought, when the two forces met over the last giant hurlock and then stood dumbly before one another.

Then a great cheer erupted, echoing from the roof of the widened tunnel and Luke felt the breath of air from behind the army, the entrance to the world. Between hugs and arm clasps the men exchanged greetings and moved as a single force back towards the scrub land south of the city, emerging into late afternoon sunlight, all of them throwing off helms and lifting faces to the blue sky, dragging in great breaths of untainted air.

The spent the rest of the afternoon piling rocks back into the mouth of the cave, every man working tirelessly to haul boulders into place before finally, Anders threw fireball after fireball at the structure, fusing the stone and likely causing the ceiling behind to collapse downward. The location would be marked, mapped and patrolled, but for the time being, the Deep Roads had been sealed.

An air of victory pervaded the air that night, as if the weight had finally been lifted from every shoulder. Then men sang and danced and secret stores of ale emerged from many packs. Luke sat between his uncles. Though neither Fergus nor Alistair were related t him by blood, they would always be family to him and they exchanged stories and spoke as men should until the moon rose fully and yawns replaced more and more of their words. The next day they would return to the city, clean themselves up and then listen for news of Aedan's ship.

Alistair slipped an arm about his shoulders and mused, "And now we have good news for the Warden Commander. He will see his not indispensible after all."

Luke grinned and nodded. Hopefully Aedan would see things in that light.


	37. A Silent Strength

A Silent Strength

Runir and Marin waited for them at the docks. Both Wardens stepped forward at the same time, enthusiastic grins on their faces as Leliana and Aedan approached. As they caught sight of their Commander the grins faded and Marin's face took on an expression of open shock. While more restrained, Runir's face echoed his fellow Warden's concern.

Aedan stopped and Leliana stepped forward alone, holding out her hands and grasping Marin's as he offered them. The Warden bent to kiss her cheek and Runir clasped her lightly about the shoulders. Both men stole glances at Aedan and when Leliana turned to follow the direction of their eyes she saw her husband had dropped his eyes towards the weathered wood of the dock and appeared to be making a study of his boots. He looked up, squared his shoulders and stepped forward. She could see he'd tried for a friendly expression, but his face looked strained, tense. In the bright daylight shadows marked his eyes and his cheeks. He looked unwell and tired.

They had decided to continue with the story of them traveling to Val Chevin and him falling ill. Neither of them felt like explaining their ordeal to someone else, they preferred to keep it between them. There were other reasons for keeping quiet, chief among them being Leliana's attempt on Paul Le Trene's life. Would Celene understand her motivation? Morrigan barely had. The witch herself was another reason to stay silent; her involvement made her complicit in what might amount to treason.

Turning back to the Wardens she explained softly, "He has not been well. A fever took him on the road to Val Chevin." She did not have to reach for a mask as she elaborated on his illness, his brush with death, the comatose state punctured by nightmares. "Though he is recovering, he is very quiet." Would they understand that she meant he would not be talkative? Looking from one man to the other she thought they might. They had both been Wardens for over three years, they knew their commander. Though he socialized easily and usually had a warm and friendly manner, Aedan did not often engage in idle conversation. He saved his words for purpose.

Aedan had caught up to him and he gingerly grasped the other Warden's arms and offered a quiet and polite greeting. "Runir, Marin."

"Commander," they both offered in return and none of them missed the slight wince that crossed Aedan's face.

Dropping his gaze to the dock once more, the Warden Commander took a breath and composed himself. He looked more business-like when he raised his face once more. "Your, ah, business with the Wardens went well?"

They both nodded and Marin opened his mouth, perhaps to elaborate, and then seemed to change his mind. Runir spoke instead. "When you are ready, we can give you a full report."

Aedan nodded and turned to Marin. "Did you see your family?"

Marin's face broke into a broad grin. "I did. I took Runir here with me; we are just come from there this morning."

Runir smiled and nodded along and Leliana could see that both men had enjoyed the company of Marin's family. They looked relaxed and well rested, just as they should after some vacation time.

Celene had said goodbye to them at the palace and so they boarded _The Blazing Sun_ without further delay and were again greeted formally by Captain Reginald and shown to their stateroom. Aedan stayed on the deck while she saw to their belongings and Leliana lingered in the room for a while, glancing about at the warm furnishings and taking in the bright polish of the sun coloured wood, the details on the pillows and curtains. She breathed in the quiet. Unlike the voyage here, she looked forward to Aedan's company on the trip home. Though his silences were long, they were a calm quiet. He had surprised her the evening before by offering to listen and though it pained her to tell him what she had seen and done and felt, Leliana had taken the opportunity as given, knowing he meant it and that he had made the gesture sincerely in an effort to show the love he couldn't quite feel. And it had helped. She'd felt her burdens lifting and sharing as she had talked.

Leliana liked to watch Aedan when she talked to him, to see the reflection of her words in his eyes. He always listened to her so intently and she could read his reactions clearly. She enjoyed telling him stories for this very reason; he made a very receptive audience. It also sometimes made it difficult to talk to him, knowing what he thought would be there for her to read, but over the years he had never disappointed and had often surprised her by listening to anything and everything she had to say without judgment or contempt.

Last night she had seen it all in his eyes, her torment and pain. She had seen his earnest desire to leave their troubles behind and live a simple life. She had seen his love for her, had felt it within the circle of his arms and the beat of his heart. He had withdrawn afterwards and his nightmares had been terrible, but Leliana knew he'd taken steps forward, she had felt for the first time since he had opened his eyes that he would come back to her, to himself, fully once more. Aedan would not give up, that she could always count on. He always cited her as the source of his strength, never acknowledged the bottomless pool of it he carried within himself. The very tenacity that caused him so much anguish made up the core of his being.

After collecting Aedan from the deck, where it appeared he had not moved an inch, Leliana walked at his side as he made a slow and steady circuit of the deck. He did not repeat his restless pacing of the journey to Val Royeaux, simply made one round as if to remap the terrain and then agreed to her suggestion they go prepare for dinner with the captain.

Leliana kept the conversation lively and Runir and Marin became her willing accomplices in covering up for Aedan's silence. The captain did not seem to notice the Commander's quiet attitude and Aedan managed to keep his expression interested as he listened to everyone's stories. A frown creased Runir's features as they pushed back from the table after dessert and Leliana followed the direction of the rogue's eyes. Aedan had rolled back his sleeves, the air in the captain's salon had become heavy and close with the late summer evening, the wine and the pipe smoke, and Runir had caught sight of the new and still angry scars across his forearms.

Catching his eye, Leliana shook her head gently and Runir nodded, biting his lips together and turning to distract Marin with a bawdy joke that had the other gentlemen snickering. Leliana placed her hand on Aedan's arm and he looked over at her.

"Could we make our excuses, my love? I am tired."

With a short nod Aedan stood and thanked the captain for his hospitality. As they made their way towards their stateroom Leliana remembered their last dinner with the captain and how she had dispensed with Aedan's fussy shirt afterwards. The shirt still lay in the bottom of his pack, the button holes still ripped and as she thought of it, a smile curved her mouth. The smile did not last long. She knew she wouldn't be ripping any clothing off of him tonight. Aedan would likely lie beside her still as a stone or curling his arm about her only if she asked. She missed his more intimate attentions, Aedan had always been an enthusiastic lover, it had been one of the constants of their relationship, the sharing of their bodies.

Runir pulled her aside the next morning.

"Those scars do not look like the result of a fever, Leliana, more likely the cause."

Leliana said nothing, what could she say and not pique his curiosity further? She merely met the man's gaze for a moment and then let eyes drop away with a quiet sigh.

"I will not press, I respect your reasons for being circumspect, whatever they are." He touched her arm lightly. "But Leliana, the Wardens all care for Aedan a great deal, we care for you. I am here if you need to talk."

Maker but she was tempted, so very tempted to confide in another. Of all the Wardens, Runir might be likely to understand it all. Like Zevran and herself he had worked as an assassin, he'd trod the darker paths.

Placing her hand over his, Leliana replied. "Thank you, Runir. I value your concern and I know Aedan does as well. When," not if, "he is himself again, he may take you into his confidence." She hoped her words did not offend, hoped Runir would understand she could not speak for both of them. Tilting her head a little, Leliana smiled gently. "I could use a friend right now though. Will you spar with me, Runir? I have some energy I need to burn off."

Runir grinned and offered his elbow in a gentlemanly gesture. "I'd be delighted to." He escorted her to the hold the sailors used for their work outs and handed her a pair of wooden blades.

Leliana enjoyed their session greatly. The physical exertion felt good, she'd sustained a few injuries herself and now that she had recovered the light movements and the cross of blades helped limber any lingering stiffness. She enjoyed Runir's companionship too, his lighthearted jests and good natured manners. It felt almost normal to be in the company of someone who actually spoke and smiled and reacted and the match lifted her spirits immeasurably.

She encouraged Aedan to join both the Wardens in the hold the following day, thinking he might find the same enjoyment from the simple exercise. He did not.

Marin handed him a pair of wooden blades and taking them, Aedan looked down at his hands almost blankly. After a moment an expression of wrenching sadness crossed his face. He dropped the weapons at his feet, turned, and walked to the door without a word.

The two Wardens exchanged worried glances and Marin stepped forward only to be restrained by Runir. They whispered furiously at one another and Leliana took the opportunity to flee the hold. Catching sight of Aedan ascending the staircase to the deck she followed, calling out, "Aedan," so that he would know she intended to pursue him, to give him the opportunity to stop and wait for her. She did not expect him to and when she bumped into him at the top of the stairs, her eyes widened in surprise.

He leaned against the wall and appeared to be gasping quietly. Leliana then understood that he struggled as he had atop the cliff, that his memories had chosen that moment to assault him. Slipping her arms about him, feeling him flinch at her touch, Leliana held him close and as his muscles begin to relax he slowly wrapped his arms about her and dropped his head to her shoulder. As before, Aedan fell into a stupor soon afterwards and sat on the deck silent and immobile for the remainder of the day. He did not have nightmares that night, however, and the following morning she found him watching her when she opened her eyes.

He looked so peaceful that Leliana could not help but smile at him, but she did not reach out to touch him, much as she wanted to or craved the feeling of him next to her. Instead she merely shuffled a little closer so that she rested just within the reach of his arms.

"I didn't dream last night, Leli."

"I know."

He frowned slightly. "Do my dreams keep you from sleep?"

"Not so much. You know I require less rest than you." With a warmer smile she added, "Then I can wake up and watch you sleep."

He returned her smile. "Are you well? Tell me your thoughts."

She wanted to say, 'My thoughts are of you.' But he did not want to hear that. Thinking over her own well being, Leliana discovered that her preoccupation with his state had caused her to neglect her own. But she felt well and peaceful. "I am well, Aedan. I miss our children and our home." Taking a risk she added, "I miss you."

"I'm trying."

"I know you are, I did not mean to imply that you were not."

"You are so strong, Leli. Where do you get your strength from? How do you withstand all that you do with such integrity and grace?"

Leliana reached out to touch his chest then, a soft tap of fingers. He blinked and looked down at her hand. "Because I have you. Everyone has their own inner strength and mine sustains me, as does my faith. But without your heart, I might have given in. Without your strength, we would not be here, where we are now."

"I am weak, Leliana. I am not a great warrior like Philippe, or a leader such as Alistair. I am only a hero because I was too afraid to die."

"Oh, Aedan, not everyone has the courage to _live_. You are the strongest man I know." Leliana believed this with all her heart. "You are still here, after everything, you are still here." She tapped his chest, tears gathering in her eyes. "You chose to come back, you decided to leave the Fade, to let go. Not every man would have had the courage to visit the edge of insanity and step across." Leliana shook her head. "I should never have asked you to do it, to embrace your anger." Tears spilled freely down her cheeks. "But I would not have considered it if I did not know you were strong enough to pull through."

"I do not choose to do these things…"

"But you do, with your will. Because you never stop trying, my love. You never give up."

He wiped a tear from her cheek, he held her gently, but his touch only seemed to make her ache more. She wanted one of his fierce hugs or his more passionate caresses. Leliana realised that she might yearn for it in order to wipe fully from her mind the lingering memory of Marjolaine.

Aedan spent the remainder of the day in silence, speaking only when spoken to. This time she tried not to let his quiet bother her so much. She knew he was thinking, not simply drifting this time. Leliana left him to his thoughts and spent most of the day in the company of Marin and Runir.

"His restlessness has passed," Runir commented as they sat along the wall in the hold after working out. They all knew he spoke of Aedan.

Leliana nodded. "It has." Looking from one Warden to the other, she said softly, "I do not think he will be returning to Amaranthine with you."

Marin nodded and Runir replied, "No, I thought not."

"He will always be a Warden, Runir. I know he will return to his sworn duty one day." She could not help the small and rueful smile that curved her mouth. "He is too stubborn not to." Though he may have accepted he would never kill all the darkspawn in his lifetime, though he had said he never wanted to hold a blade again, Leliana knew he would not neglect his duty. When he did return, he would be a better Commander for his experience. Or maybe he would choose not to command at all.

Leliana sensed Runir struggled with not being able to help further, with his lack of knowledge. "Runir, he will pull through. Before he… fell ill, he had accepted his fate, he had started to put his rage aside. He will continue to do so. Regardless of what he and I have," escaped? "Endured, he has emerged a stronger man, a more peaceful man."

Marin answered her as Runir thought over her comments. "Leliana, he is lucky to have you."

Smiling, she replied, "I am lucky to have him."

The days settled into a routine of Aedan being silent, but still somehow communicative. He seemed to welcome her company more and more. Leliana tried to occupy herself from time to time, working out with the Wardens or simply amusing herself with her harp. She used the hours to restore her own sense of peace and well being.

Their last night on board found Aedan watching the sea, as had become his habit, and Leliana watching him.

Though his silences pained her in a way – Leliana missed talking to the person she shared her life with – they were not entirely new. Aedan often indulged in periods of quietude, he always had. And of course, they had been apart for months at a time over the past few years. But his physical withdrawal hurt more and more. Even when not talkative, Aedan had always liked to touch her, look at her. In the past week he'd only voluntarily touched when she was sad.

The overwhelming sense of peace that radiated from him soothed her, however. Even before he'd met with the Architect, Aedan had had a restlessness about him, a constant energy brimming just below the surface. Now he seemed able to sit for hours without moving, perhaps even without thinking.

As she watched him watching the horizon, Leliana thought back to her own confinement and torture and tried to recall her mental state afterwards. She had been healthier going into her ordeal, she had been younger, she'd not experienced the pain and loss that Aedan already had. She had not had to give herself over to a berserk fit in order to be free. There had been a price to pay, however, the betrayal of a trust, the loss of a lover and a mentor, and exile. She'd had to flee her home. But the panic, the nightmares, the reaction to any sharp sound, those had haunted her as well and she tried to help him cope. And he seemed to.

But, Maker's breath, she wanted him with her again, physically, mentally and intimately. She wanted her husband and lover restored. The father of her children, the keeper of her heart. She knew it would take more than this week, these ten days, but she missed him more as every hour passed. She worried that the longer she indulged his silences, the long he might stay lost.

Leliana pushed off from the wall she leaned against and scuffed the soles of her boots as she walked across the deck, letting him hear her approach. Aedan did not look up, but neither did he flinch when she sat beside him, slipping her legs over the side of the ship as he had, and leaning forward to rest against the wire railing.

The fiery orb of the sun had just kissed the horizon and the slashed orange and red reflections lit across the sea. Leliana enjoyed the view and the lick of salt on the breeze and she quite understood his desire to sit here at this very moment. But he had been here for four hours. As had become her habit over the past week, she waited for him to talk. He would answer her if she spoke first, but their conversations tended to go further if he initiated them. She tried not to sigh and she refrained from leaning against him, slipping her arm about him. The flinch and the tense of his muscles always hurt, though she knew he did not mean it.

The sea swallowed the sun and the silence of dusk enveloped the deck. The gulls found somewhere to roost, the stiff breeze dropped to a whisper taking with it the smart rap of the sails, and the water lapped only gently against the ship. It was as though the world breathed out a soft sigh and Leliana let a breath go with it and unconsciously dropped her head to Aedan's shoulder, closing her eyes at the warmth of him beneath the soft linen of his shirt. He did not tense. She felt him turn and his arm slipped over her shoulder and he hugged her to his side. Leliana relaxed against him then, breathing in his unique scent, the lingering aroma of sweat and steel all of his shirts carried, and enjoying the closeness and his touch. She could almost imagine for a moment that Val Royeaux had not happened yet, that they were simply sailing away to a holiday.

"We'll be home tomorrow."

Leliana smiled and lifted her face slightly, aware of his only inches from hers. She wondered what he'd do if she kissed him. She missed his kisses. She'd seen him looking at her lips on and off over the past week and several times she'd known he'd been thinking about kissing her, but each time he had dropped his eyes or turned away, or even more oddly, had flushed and bitten his lip. He had never been shy before, though he often asked for what he wanted instead of taking it, a gentlemanly gesture that made her smile.

Eager to encourage a conversation, Leliana asked, "Do you think Luke will bring the little ones to meet the ship?"

"Yes."

Leliana bit her lips over a sigh of disappointment at his simple answer, and then let it out slowly as he continued to speak.

"I don't think he would get away with leaving Grace at the Keep, she is a very demanding little girl." He grinned.

Leliana returned the wider smile. "Of course, Rory does not like Grace upstaging him, so he will have to come along too."

Aedan actually chuckled. "You are right. He can be quite dramatic at times." He looked upon her fondly. "He must get that from you."

"To hear Fergus tell it, that comes from you, my sweet Warden."

His eyes clouded briefly at her use of the name she had called him on and off throughout the years and Leliana instantly regretted the slip. He seemed to recover though and his expression became thoughtful rather than broody.

"Do you ever miss being a bard, Leliana? I know you don't miss the…" he frowned and pressed his lips together a moment. "Do you miss doing something adventurous? I know you always wanted to travel more."

Drawing her brows down in thought, Leliana gave proper consideration to his question. It wasn't anything she hadn't pondered before, in her quieter moments, and she wanted to give him as honest an answer as possible. He seemed to require that right now.

"Sometimes I do. But perhaps not for the reasons you might think. I miss the freedom of it, knowing I could follow my feet, travel if I wanted. I also miss the lack of responsibility of my life then. I answered to another, whereas now I answer to myself and my family."

Aedan nodded and she saw he understood perfectly what she had meant.

"I think when Grace and Rory are older we should travel. Satisfy your wanderlust. The Couslands shall explore Thedas."

Leliana's heart lifted and she could not help the broad smile upon her face. "Aedan, I, if… Oh." Lifting her hand to her mouth, she chuckled. "You have robbed me of my words again." How long had it been since he had last done that? Then she remembered – her birthday, his gift, not the book, but his company, that gift of a day. "If you wanted to…"

He took her fingers from her lips an entwined them with his own. "No, if you wanted to, Leli." He took a breath and squeezed her fingers. "When I am… well again, I want our future to be of your choosing as well as my own."

Leliana then realised that he held her, his fingers wrapped warmly about hers and she could feel him draw breath as she leaned against his side. And his words, his words! He had overwhelmed her. She closed her eyes a moment and remembered that this was how she had pictured her life with him after the Blight, in her daydreams. Though in reality she knew him dedicated to a cause, in her fantasies she had imagined them sailing into a sunset and talking of their dreams and where they would travel to next.

"So long as I am with you, my love, I do not mind where we go or what we do," she answered softly.

Emotion moved across his face then, almost like faint ripples, and she saw his jaw clench and relax and his brows dip and raise. She could guess at the inner struggle, she knew that though he wanted to give in and feel things properly again that he was afraid. The panic might hit him, or the pain, his feelings had knotted and twisted and she knew he sometimes found it difficult to distinguish one from the other.

Aedan leaned forward and she held her breath. His forehead came to rest gently against hers and his eyes closed. His fingers pulled from hers and his eyes opened. The cool blue of his gaze met the clear blue of hers and his finger tips grazed her cheek. She could see it in his eyes then, the love, that spark of light she had so sorely missed, faint but recognizable, and her heartbeat sped up and she curled her other fingers upon the deck as the anticipation built. She knew he wanted to kiss her; she wanted to feel his lips on hers with every ounce of her being. The moment felt like the prelude to a first kiss and a flush took her cheeks, heating her skin as she awaited his touch.

Feeling him close the distance, slowly, hesitantly, Leliana closed her eyes and when his lips brushed hers softly, her entire body flushed. Never had a kiss affected her so, not even his first, which had been as sweet, the same feather light brush. His gentleness never seemed at odds with his passion or his profession, it was a part of Aedan that she adored. His lips touched hers again and Leliana pressed forward slightly, kissing him back.

His lips left hers and Leliana opened her eyes to find him staring at her.

"Leli."

Aedan clambered to his feet and she followed. He stood before her, his expression now somewhat dazed. He blinked and turned towards the door leading below decks leaving her feeling momentarily bereft and then he turned back and took her hand and tugged her gently along behind him, his mouth curved in a small smile.

He might have been hesitant at first, but Aedan had always been a passionate man and of course, he gave everything his all. And so after they made love, he suffered the onset of all of his emotions once again and Leliana held him tightly, waiting for the shaking to pass. This time he did not completely withdraw afterwards. He did not retreat into a silent stupor. He talked.

"I liked the numbness." He looked at her and his eyes were sad. "I felt so calm. I know I can't be like that forever, but," he hesitated, "If I go there again, wait for me. I'll come back. I'll always come back for you."

"I believe you."

"I love you so much, Leli. It hurts," he stopped and took a short breath. "The depth of my love for you astounds me. It is almost a kind of pain." He shook his head. "I'm not making any sense."

Leliana's heart lurched and skipped beats and she felt the same pain he described, the intense kind of love that came from giving your heart completely to another person and trusting them to care for it. She felt the sting of tears at her eyes and they rolled down her cheeks as she made her reply.

"You make perfect sense, Aedan. I feel the same way. It's why I chose you, and maybe why you chose me. We knew we could give our hearts to one another, utterly and completely, and that the other would care for it, always."

Leliana tucked her head against his chest and molded her body against his so that their skin touched all the way down, their arms and legs entwined. He held her there and she listened to his heart beat, the steady and slowly calming rhythm of it. She was not naïve enough to think she had fixed him, taken away all his pain with her loving touch. But he had fixed her, his touch had wiped away the memory of another and to know that she had not lost him forever made her feel whole again, complete.

A breath sighed over her ear and she knew he had fallen asleep. She loosened his hold a little and lay next to him, tracing his new scars with her fingertips, wishing they were as easily healed.


	38. The Master of His Fate

The Master of His Fate

Aedan knew seeing his children and Alistair, his brother in all things but blood, would be a challenge for his addled emotional state. He hated the idea he was delicate or needed to be coddled, but also realised that Leliana had been a buffer between him and the world for the past ten days and that he would not have her constantly at his side in Denerim. In preparation he withdrew from her company the morning before they docked, the morning after they had made love, and realised four hours later that he had all but abandoned her, had left her alone. When he returned to their stateroom, she sat beside their packed bags looking both overwhelmed and bereft. Guilt and shame flushed his cheeks. He had retreated to his silent refuge, the numbness, when she had needed him.

Crossing to her side, Aedan crouched before her and slipped his arms about her waist, resting his head in her lap. "Love, I am sorry," he murmured quietly. "Again I have been selfish. I am here for you now."

She stroked his hair and plucked at his shoulders and Aedan unbent his knees and sat beside her, drawing her into his arms.

"We will have to tell so many lies, twist the truth over and over, Aedan. The very thought tires me."These words confirmed for him something he had come to suspect over the course of days. Leliana kept something from him, perhaps more than one thing. She had secrets and they bothered her.

He touched her chin. "Leli, I know now isn't the time, but whatever it is, you can tell me. I will listen. There will always be truth between us."

A shadow clouded the clear blue of her eyes and she nodded slightly, confirming his suspicions and then she grasped his hand. "Today will be hard for you, Aedan."

He acknowledged this with a nod. "But I am strong, right?" He gave her a quick wink and Leliana smiled a proper smile.

She leaned in and he kissed her lips without hesitation, overjoyed that he could do so without fear. Of course, he wanted her, there and then, and Leliana laughed at his soft growl and pushed him off.

"As wonderful as it is to see the return of your more passionate nature, my sweet Warden, we have people waiting to see us on the docks of Denerim!"

Aedan rested his forehead to hers. "That we do, love." He took her hand and pulled her to her feet. "Let's go!"

They stood on the deck and watched the docks until the dots resolved into people. Maker, why were there so many people? His eyes caught Alistair's red gold hair, the brown of Luke standing next to him, and then… Fergus? Then Aedan remembered the Landsmeet, of course, his brother would be in Denerim for the annual meeting of nobles. A flash of white blonde, Zevran, and next to the elf stood Nathaniel Howe, also in Denerim for the Landsmeet, no doubt. Brenna stood on the other side of Alistair and Aedan felt Leliana squeeze his fingers as she too caught sight of their little ones, Rory and Gracie, each holding one of the queen's hands, but leaning forward, straining eagerly towards the end of the dock. The shorter statue of Oghren came next, and beside him two Wardens he had not expected to see, Garrett and Anders. Perhaps they had accompanied Nate from Amaranthine.

As his eyes roved over the familiar and loved faces of his friends and his family, Aedan felt his heart fill to an almost painful capacity. It hurt and he had to work to quiet his breath and steady his legs. The pain squeezed his entire chest, constricting his lungs and sending lines of fire down the scars of his back. His ears began to ring and he felt the sweat trickling down the back of his neck, over his ribs, between his and Leliana's clasped hands. His fear intermingled with the love he held for the people standing on the dock, and behind it lurked the anger, the frustration, the guilt. He could do this. He had faced down a horde of darkspawn and not quailed, he could be reunited with his family and not drop into a fit. Glancing to the side, Aedan studied Leliana's face and discovered she looked almost as he felt. She looked vulnerable. He squeezed her fingers gently, understanding that in a way, this would be hard for her too.

The ship gently nudged the dock and she pulled him to the exit, looking as if she would leap over the side of the ship if they did not lower the ramp in quick order. And then she ran, she let go of his fingers and she ran to her children. Dropping onto her knees on the dock, Leliana flung her arms about both small bodies and pulled them close, covering their faces with kisses, her cheeks shining with tears. Aedan felt his heart twist and then expand. He stood still, unable to move or follow. A hand gently grasped his elbow and Aedan looked to his side to see Marin standing there. The Warden gave him an almost imperceptible nod and Aedan breathed out a sigh and let himself be guided down the ramp.

Luke ran forward first and Aedan did not miss the shock on his son's face before he found himself enveloped in gangly arms. He hugged the young man back, fiercely, and struggled to breathe, to keep breathing. Luke spoke to him, but his voice sounded muffled through the ringing in his ears. A tugging at his pants hand him looking down and there was his boy, his little black haired boy, and Aedan dropped to his knees and put a hand on either side of Rory's face.

"We found you, daddy."

Aedan shuddered, he knew exactly of what Rory spoke, that his youngest son had been in the Fade with him after all.

"You did, Rory. Thank you."

He pulled the little boy against his chest and hugged him tightly, kissing the dark hair. When he opened his eyes, a bright grey gaze met his and Aedan pulled Grace against himself as well, clasping both of the little children and kissing them both again. His head began to swim and the dock felt as if it were moving and Aedan closed his eyes and took several long, deep breaths. He stood unsteadily and actually stumbled until a hand closed over his arm and Fergus stood there concern etched across his face.

"Aedan, here, lean on me."

"Brother…"

Aedan looked about at the ring of faces, trying to find Leliana. His breath caught in his throat and his legs trembled and the spinning wouldn't stop. Why were there so many people here and why did they all look at him? Where was Leliana? He closed his eyes and tried to find the calm, the numbness. His heart hammered and pain wracked his body. He couldn't separate from himself and then he couldn't breathe and his vision darkened and he was falling, falling, and the world went dark.

The nightmares came, thick and fast, leaving him gasping and lost between Thedas and the Fade. He relived it all, every blow, every failure, every loss.

When he opened his eyes again, the canopy over the bed looked familiar. Aedan studied the delicately scalloped edges of the cutwork set in ivory linen as he tried to remember what had happened. The dock, had he fallen off the dock? He closed his eyes and the nightmares he'd had swirled about in the dark behind his lids. With a gasp he opened his eyes again.

"Aedan?"

Aedan rolled his head to the side and saw Alistair sitting by the bed and he recognised the room. His room, he and Leliana's suite of rooms at the palace. One of his homes. Craning his head he glanced down at himself and saw that he lay on top of the bed, fully dressed except for his boots. Afternoon sunlight slanted through the windows. He felt disoriented and numb, just he always did after combating the swirl of emotions that refused to separate and slip into their respectful places. After enduring the nightmares. Much as he had yearned to see his friend and brother, he did not feel like talking now. Embarrassment coloured his cheeks and weariness tugged at his limbs. The numbness and lack of thought enticed and he rolled away from the King and stared at the opposite wall until his eyes closed and the world slipped away once more.

The dreams came, not quite nightmares, not quite pleasant. He wandered mazes and sometimes he found his way out and sometimes he did not.

Aedan had no idea how much time passed before Alistair said his name again, or perhaps he had been saying it over and over and finally he heard it this time. The sun had disappeared from the windows and Alistair no longer sat by the bed. He stood at the end talking to Leliana in a low voice, and both them looked agitated and annoyed with one another. Curling in upon himself, Aedan ignored the voices and went to sleep.

Dreams and nightmares, then peace.

"Aedan?"

Fergus sat there now and Aedan gazed at his brother, seeing his father's face. Oh, Maker, the loss, it felt as if a hole opened up inside of him and Aedan lost is breath entirely. He tried to turn away, but Fergus stood and grasped his shoulder.

"Don't turn away from me, little brother."

"I don't want you to see me like this."

"Aedan, Leliana won't tell us anything. She is beside herself with worry and grief over you. Let me help. Tell me something, anything."

Aedan pulled away from Fergus's hand and shuffled off the side of the bed. He stumbled and steadied himself, but when he stood up, his head spun in slow, lazy circles. "How long have I been here?"

Fergus looked concerned. "Two days."

Aedan dropped his head back and yelled. He couldn't help it. Frustration and anger overtook him and he cried out for it, tired of fighting against himself. "I am no better, I am worse. I am broken, Fergus. Take me home, please. Take me to Highever."

Fergus stepped to his side. "Aedan, what happened?"

Aedan looked at his brother and fought the urge to tell him everything, to share his pain, his failures, his frustration. He kept so many secrets from Fergus already, being a Grey Warden, it would be good to tell him something. But not this, this shameful story of him lying broken and fevered while his wife suffered at the whim of Marjolaine. His time in the fade, the memories of all he had lost. Leliana had told him he was strong, but he didn't feel it, he felt weak and as if he would collapse beneath the burden of all he couldn't say.

"Please," he whispered, "Just take me home."

"Aedan, there is much news of the city. Many people await the opportunity to speak with you." Fergus glanced about as if looking for someone. "Luke and Alistair have barely left this room, we have all watched over you as you shook and raved. What is causing these fits? Leliana says you took a fever…?"

"I did." Aedan started to wish he'd not come back at all. Defeat weighed upon his shoulders. Such hope had pervaded his thoughts, lifted his heart, on the journey home. He loved his wife again, properly, he had looked forward to seeing his children. But now he stood, barely, clinging to a bedpost and pleading his brother to take him home. Leliana had told him he was strong, that he never gave up. But he felt like giving up now. He tried to reach for the numbness and found even that beyond his grasp. He wanted with all his heart to withdraw, to follow his brother to his childhood home and shuck the responsibilities of his life. But he could not. Aedan wanted to yell again, but he could not. He had to be strong, for Leliana. "Where is Leliana?"

"She is sleeping in Luke's room. Aedan, she looks almost as unwell as you. I have never seen her so upset, she will not let go of her children and she cries and worries after you. It is obvious to us all that you two did not merely holiday in Val Royeaux."

Leliana needed him. He'd been lying in a stupor for two days when his wife needed him. Aedan pushed off from the bedpost and staggered towards the door. He heard Fergus following him and when he entered the sitting room a ring of worried and… frightened? faces greeted him. He ignored them all as he rushed towards Luke's bedroom, opened the door, slipped through and closed it behind him, quietly but firmly, leaving Fergus outside.

Her eyes opened and Aedan looked upon his wife with shock. She looked drawn, pale, utterly worn out and miserable.

Heedless of how long she might have slept, or how much rest she might need, Aedan stretched out beside her and took her into his arms. "Leli, I am here for you, I am here. I'm sorry, love. I didn't mean to go, please forgive me."

"Oh, Aedan." She shook in his arms and sobbed and he held her gently, but close, kissing her hair and her forehead until she calmed. He stroked her hair as she did for him and he told her loved her and that he would be strong for her, stay with her. He told her over and over and every time he repeated the words he felt stronger, he felt the love and he felt the resolve.

"I thought I'd lost you again," she finally whispered.

"Maker, Leliana, I am a selfish man. I cannot believe I left you alone with all of this." He sighed. "I am not going to leave you again."

The true mark of Leliana's exhaustion lay in the fact she fell asleep in his arms, tears still wet upon her cheeks. Seeing her this way stirred him. He had to stop wasting time, stop seeking the numbness. He would not recover fully anytime soon, he knew that, but neither could he run away any longer. He had to come back, permanently; he had to be master of his fate. He held her until her breath steadied and her slumber deepened and then he gently disengaged himself and slipped quietly from the room once more. The same faces blinked up at him, expressions varying between worry and concern. Aedan moved to the couch and sat down heavily, letting his head flop back a moment. His stomach flipped over and growled and he looked up in surprise.

"I am hungry," he said. Food was sent for and as they waited, Aedan looked from face to face. Luke, Alistair, Fergus, Zevran, Oghren, Garrett and Nate. "No Anders?"

His attempt at humour seemed to shock the assembled men and they glanced at one another a moment before Luke answered, "He is helping Brenna look after Rory and Grace."

Aedan nodded and looked from one face to the other again. Though he felt the weight of seven pairs of eyes, he realised having all these men here saved him from seeking them out individually. It was time to make his excuses and move forward, take care of his family.

"Leliana told you I succumbed to a fever on the road to Val Chevin?"

They all nodded with various attitudes of interest and disbelief.

"I did have a fever, a terrible and wasting one." He held up his arms and snorted at the body that had become almost a shade of its former self. "I became lost in my nightmares, the Fade. It has changed me, as I am sure you are all aware. I am not the man I once was." Taking a deep breath, he continued. "I will always be a Warden, but I am no longer fit to either command or fight. From this point forward Philippe is Warden Commander of Ferelden, whether he bloody likes it or not. I will send word to Wyman of my decision."

Luke's face registered grief and Aedan stopped and looked questioningly at his son. "I'll come back to Amaranthine one day, Luke. When I am well. Leliana needs me now and I need to be with my family. I have been away for far too long. You know that…" he stopped as tears welled in his son's eyes. "Luke, what is it?" Glancing from one face to the other again, he saw that they all looked disturbed, more upset than they should be at his news. "What has happened?"

Alistair spoke. "Wyman is dead, Aedan."

"Oh!" The words hit him as a physical blow and the air rushed out of him with sound. It hurt, oh, it hurt! Lowering his head, Aedan massaged his temples, easing the pounding that threatened and took a deep breath. He reached for the templar techniques that had never served him well; he reached for his strength of will. He asked, "How?"

One at a time they told him the story, his worst nightmare revealed: Darkspawn beneath Denerim. Aedan gripped the fabric of the couch beneath clenched fingers as he listened, fighting for breath, battling the yawning abyss that threatened his consciousness. The world tried to fall away and take him with it. The horror of their story, the mingling of his emotions that rose to greet it, all served to leaving him once more breathless and teetering on the edge. It felt like the approach of a berserk fit he dimly realised, but not one born of anger. He could not separate, he could not hold it all in. Then he found a release, he let tears roll down his cheeks, ashamed to cry in front of the men, but unashamed to admit his sense of loss. The temptation to claim it all as his fault nearly overwhelmed him. This would be another failure to add to his ever growing list, more guilt to add to the bottomless well. Instead, he dropped his head into his hands and wept quiet tears for the loss of lives.

The couch dipped beside him and an arm moved about his shoulders. Luke sat there and Aedan leaned against his son and then held him in return. "I'm sorry, Luke. I should have been here."

"Aedan, you would have been in Gwaren anyway."

Yes, he would have, throwing more of his life away on his relentless crusade. He sniffed and patted Luke's shoulders. "You're right. Were you hurt? I can't believe you fought in the Deep Roads." He gripped his son's shoulders and looked deeply into the warm brown eyes. "Luke, I'm so proud of you. I don't tell you that enough. I fought for you for so long in my nightmares and then I had to let you go. I, I should have done it sooner." Aedan was dimly aware of the other men in the room. Perhaps this should have been a private moment, but a part of him understood that they all needed to hear this, needed to know that he had moved on, finally. Yes, he might be broken, not the warrior he once had been, but whoever he became in the future would not be dogged by the guilt and the loss and the anger, of this he became determined.

It was Luke's turn to look a little overwhelmed and they hugged again, as father and son, as brothers and as men. A firm clasp with no tears this time.

The food had arrived some time before and Aedan smelled it now and, despite his grief and sorrow and lingering shame, he ate ravenously, his empty stomach making embarrassing noises. The other Wardens joined him as they were always hungry, Oghren ate because he could always eat and Zevran picked at a selection. Despite the awful news that had passed, or perhaps because of it, the conversation turned to lighter things. They drank ale. Aedan began to feel lightheaded again, but in a much more pleasant fashion. Zevran told him stories of Luke's bravery and skill, and in a quiet moment Garrett recounted the circumstances of Wyman's death, the funeral they had held in the cavern. Alistair called for a toast at this point and Aedan raised his mug and bowed his head, the pain faintly gripping his heart, the sorrow brimming again behind his eyes.

After a while, Aedan turned to Garrett and asked quietly, "Garrett, would you take on Wyman's duties?"

"Of course, Commander." Garrett winced and corrected, "Aedan."

Aedan blew out a sigh. Now that he had renounced his leadership of the Wardens, he actually felt like a Commander again, he felt detached, calm and able to make decisions. The fever, not the one that had sent him to fade, but the one that had driven him underground, had left him. But he knew he was not fit to command properly now, if ever again. Not until these fits of his subsided and he could lift a blade once more. Looking up, he caught Garrett's eye. "Until Philippe returns, they are your Wardens, Garrett. I entrust them to you knowing Ferelden is in good hands." And if Philippe declined leadership for the third time, they would be Garrett's Wardens until a new leader stepped forward.

Everyone raised their mugs again and once more the conversation turned more genial. Aedan thought the numbness had started to encroach once more, his limbs felt heavy and his mind started to slow. He then realised simple fatigue and two mugs of ale worked against him and before he could stop himself, he drifted as he sat, and then fell asleep sitting up, his head thrown back against the couch.


	39. A Gift

A Gift

Alistair barely managed to hide his shock as first Leliana and then Aedan descended the gang plank to the dock. Leliana's face, usually so composed and serene, told a story of sorrow and loss and she hugged her children as if she'd never expected to see them again. The Warden Commander could barely walk unaided and he looked ill. Thinner if possible, deep shadows beneath eyes that seemed not to want to focus and a clench to the jaw that told either of an effort to stand upright nor merely stay conscious.

After greeting his children, Aedan had fallen against Fergus, shaking in some sort of fit and Leliana had rushed to his side and held his hands and Alistair had seen unimaginable grief in her eyes. Even his regal status could not win him in a place in the crowd of bodies crouched over Aedan, but he had been allowed to help carry him back to the palace, the dead weight of his friend and brother reminding him almost of death. Of course, he and everyone else had pressed Leliana for details and all she would tell them was that Aedan had been sick, still was. A fever.

Aedan had stirred between raving nightmares and unconsciousness for two days. Alistair had seen the scars on his arms, had noticed the changed profile of his nose, the fading bruises on his cheekbone, jaw, marks everywhere. This was a man who had fought for his life and perhaps only barely won, yet Alistair's gentle questions met quiet rebuff from Leliana. He tried more forceful inquiries, she remained resolute. He argued with his chancellor and she pleaded with him to leave her be, tears staining her cheeks. Leliana did not look well herself, she had obviously suffered alongside her husband.

"Why won't they tell us what happened, Brenna? He is my brother!" Alistair heard the childish frustration in his voice and compounded the mental image by softly kicking at the upholstered leg of a chair in their sitting room.

Brenna looked weary too, Maker, they all did. They all were. Though the city had begun to recover from the Mage, Alistair knew from experience that appearances could be deceiving. The bodies had been burned, the entrances to the Deep Roads had been sealed, the Roads themselves were being mapped. Grey Wardens, humanity's vanguard against the Darkspawn, worked tirelessly to ensure their safety. But the grieving was not yet done and the fear would take a while to loosen its hold. Meanwhile, he had a city to right, an Arl to appoint and a Landsmeet to prepare for.

Gripping his hand and staying his pacing course, Brenna made her soft reply. "Have you told either of them about the Mage?"

Alistair gave her and incredulous look. "Of course not, they are not ready. They are both ill and preoccupied." Brenna nodded softly and as he continued, he realised her point. "They have enough burdens of their own right now."

"They will tell you what they can when they can. You know this."

"I wish I never had to tell him, I am afraid to tell him." They all dreaded Aedan's reaction to the news of the darkspawn.

"Perhaps they are as afraid of your reaction to their own news. They are home and are safe. Denerim is safe."

When Aedan came out of his dreams, he looked even worse, if that was even possible, and he did what Aedan would always do. He rushed to Leliana's side. As one of the confused faces that watched the man run silently from one end of his sitting room to the other, closing her door softly behind him, Alistair did not find fault with his friend. Leliana suffered, obviously so. He'd never seen her so irrational. He knew weariness plucked at her, and memories, but she clung to her children and to her unconscious husband in turns and cried as if she thought her world had come to an end. Frankly she had scared him.

Again, Brenna had the explanation. "Leliana has held herself together throughout whatever trial they faced in Val Royeaux. Now she is home and it is alright for her to mourn what she thinks she has lost, for her to hold close to her what remains. She knows, even though she may not tell us in so many words, that we will care for her while she recovers." Brenna looked almost humbled as she added, "It is an incredible show of trust on her part, one we should respect."

Alistair had hugged his diminutive wife close. "You should be King of Ferelden, love."

"I am Queen, and that is enough." Brenna delivered this with her beautiful smile and as he did almost daily, Alistair counted himself as the luckiest man in Thedas.

When Aedan returned from Leliana's room and sat heavily on the couch he looked both stronger and weaker. Alistair could not get over how ill his friend looked. He had almost looked better after killing the archdemon. But a fire burned in his eyes, the familiar determination and will Alistair had seen throughout the past six years. Whatever worked to defeat this man would not succeed, of that he knew with certainty.

There is never a good time to share bad news and as they watched the Hero of Ferelden weep before them, Alistair felt sure he was not the only one blinking to hold back tears. They had all shared in the recent losses; they had all fought to save Ferelden once more. Oghren sniffed loudly and fussed with his beard and Zevran refused to meet anyone's gaze. Luke comforted his father, something Alistair would liked to have done, but recognised as a son's right. He would have an opportunity to talk with his brother soon, he would be patient.

His chance came the next day when Aedan appeared almost soundlessly in the open doorway of his office. Not able to help himself, Alistair rose and crossed the space between them and hugged his friend. Aedan hugged him in return, one of the strong hugs he was known for, and that alone served as comfort that he would recover, that he would be himself once more.

"Brother."

"Brother."

Alistair gestured the couch and Aedan sat carefully and leaned back, looking weary, as always, still ill.

"Are you well? How is Leliana?"

"I will be well and Leliana fares as best she might." A bitter tone edged his next words. "You might know better than I how she fares. I have not been good to her, Alistair."

Alistair did not know quite how to answer the comment or if it required answer at all. "Aedan, you know we will all care for you both, for however long it takes."

Aedan glanced up from a study of his hands. "Thank you."

No guilt, no anger, no bitten off or sharp words. A quiet and simple expression of gratitude. Aedan _had_ changed. Alistair did not want to ask the question that hovered between them and so he simply asked if Aedan might like something to eat or drink instead.

His friend ignored the innocuous question and began answering the unasked one instead.

"Morrigan is in Val Royeaux."

A thousand possibilities immediately crowded his mind and Alistair picked one: "Is she responsible for…?"

Aedan held up a hand. "No. If not for her, I might not be sitting here right now. Several times over, in fact. She acts as Celene's advisor." He paused. "She has Cian with her."

Alistair blinked and then asked the first question that came to mind this time. "Cian is, ah, her child?" He'd been about to say 'your' child.

"Her son, yes. The child I, my son." Aedan's voice sounded quiet and resolute. He sounded almost normal which was at odds with what they discussed. "He looks a lot like Rory, or just like me, in fact. He knew who I was, my name, that I was his father. He sees me, no, he follows me in my dreams. All of us. He is a strange child, Alistair, but I do not fear him, or Morrigan. I think she is merely looking for a place, hiding in plain sight, as it were. Though she may not miss an opportunity to take advantage for herself, I think she will prove an ally of sorts in Celene's court." Aedan held out a hand, palm up. "I am sure Leliana will provide further details, she's the chancellor, after all. I just wanted to let you know, this is the easier part to tell."

Alistair nodded thoughtfully and attempted to process all that Aedan had told him. The news was unexpected and unsettling, but he would wait for Leliana's word and opinion before passing judgment. Frankly the idea of Morrigan in a position of power terrified him, but Aedan seemed comfortable and calm. Even though he appeared, no – was, a changed man, he still trusted his brother's instincts.

Aedan leaned back on the couch, stiffly, as if it might have pained him to do so and Alistair wondered what injuries and marks were hidden beneath his simple clothing. He closed his eyes and Alistair wondered if he might have fallen asleep so still and silently did he sit. When he opened his eyes and lifted his head, Alistair blinked in surprise.

"What I am about to tell you, I do for Leliana's sake."

A cold finger traveled down Alistair's spine and he nodded his head once, solemnly.

"She needs someone to know the truth, someone she doesn't have to hide her eyes from. But Alistair, brother," Aedan's cheeks coloured and he looked shamed and dropped his face. "I do not need to ask for your discretion, your word. I know you will not share this with anyone else."

He would not.

"Marjolaine is dead."

With that simple statement, a lot of things started to make a sickening sort of sense and other thoughts began to occur. Alistair saw Aedan gauging his expression and could not find it within himself to mask the sympathy or the fear at what he thought might follow that opening statement. Aedan spoke quietly, but firmly, almost dispassionately. He described a plot to put one of Marjolaine's pawns next to Celene in the role of advisor. He spoke about his and Leliana's capture, how he had killed a bard during the ball. Alistair swallowed at this, knowing he and Brenna were supposed to have attended that event. Might they have been targeted instead? As the story continued to unfold, he realised they would not have, but that did little to dispel his disquiet. Aedan described imprisonment and impossible choices for Leliana and Alistair's heart ached for his friend.

Aedan skirted the details of his own imprisonment, pausing, staring at nothing for several minutes. The silences were unlike the quiet warrior's peaceful introspection. They seemed almost devoid of thought, as if Aedan went somewhere else entirely. Perhaps he did.

"I can't describe what I went through, Alistair. Words do not suffice. Torture is a terrible thing. It is not just the pain, it's what it does to your mind."

Cool blue eyes caught his and Alistair saw the pain there, the depth of it, and he shivered.

"That is how I became fevered. My… I was left untended for days. If not for Morrigan, I would have died, Alistair. Leliana is strong and resourceful, but I," he broke off and dropped his head again.

Alistair sensed the warrior battled his grief, or his memories, he saw a tremble pass through the bony shoulders, and he felt a lump in the back of his throat. He had sent Aedan to this; he had insisted he go away. Rationally, he knew he was not at fault, but guilt was not always logical.

Moving to the couch beside his friend, Alistair gently grasped his arm. "Tell me what you need, Aedan. Anything."

"Time. The minstrels like to say it heals all wounds, eh? I need time, that is all. Everything else I already have."

Later, Alistair found he could not absorb the horror and enormity of what Aedan and Leliana had experienced. He sat behind his desk, stunned, his eyes unfocussed over the papers, letters and reports he should be reading. Instead he found himself alternating between memories of the dungeons of Fort Drakon, how badly Aedan had reacted to even that short incarceration, and the descriptions of his escape from Marjolaine, Morrigan as a bird, being flown across the city. If he'd not heard the details from Aedan himself, he might not have believed them. He grieved for them both. What had been supposed to be a holiday had turned into an utter nightmare. They had brushed death, again. Aedan was so changed, so very different. Alistair had almost felt he sat next to a stranger. As to that, he could only draw one conclusion, the same thing Aedan had asked for – time. He had to give his dearest friend, his brother, time. They would be close again one day.

Teagan came to visit and they discussed the upcoming Landsmeet. As most of the nobles were already in the city or on their way, there seemed no point in putting it off any longer. As soon as the last representative arrived, they would convene.

"I need an Arl of Denerim, Teagan. Any recommendations?"

Normally he might have discussed such a matter with Leliana, but he guessed he would not be regaining his chancellor any time soon. She needed time also. He actually wondered if Ferelden might have lost its Warden Commander and Chancellor permanently. It would be understandable. He would not pressure either of them. Looking up at the Arl of Redcliffe, Alistair again thanked the Maker he found himself surrounded by such capable people.

They discussed a few candidates, but Alistair found his mind wandering and he excused himself and went to find Brenna. She sat surrounded by children, a sight that had become so familiar Alistair almost forgot Rory and Grace would be leaving soon, going home with Aedan and Leliana, to wherever they chose to rest and recover.

Brenna read his expression perfectly and squeezed his hand. Alistair sat beside her and played with the two children, letting all thoughts leave his mind for a while as he simply concentrated on what might amuse two nearly four year old children.

"Did you tell Leliana about their dreams?"

"Alistair, I did, and… she already knew! She didn't say as much, but, I could see she knew." Brenna shook her head, her long, dark hair swinging about her shoulders.

Leliana came to see him the next day and she paused in the doorway of his office, awaiting an invitation to enter. She looked somewhat recovered, calm, rested. Not quite herself, but not as she had been immediately following Aedan's collapse.

Once again, he stood, crossed the room and hugged a friend. Leliana hugged him back and even smiled at his greeting. A hint of nerves darkened her clear blue eyes, however. Alistair took her hand and said quietly, "We do not have to talk about anything you do not want to talk about."

"I am glad he told you, Alistair. I feared you would condemn my actions, I should not have."

"Leliana, you are family to me. I cannot think of another way to tell you… I don't think there is anything you could do that would shake my faith in you as a person. Either of you. Besides my wife, none are more dear to me than you and Aedan. We have shared so much the three of us, more than most." He squeezed her fingers. "I may be a King, but I am always your friend, first and foremost."

Leliana nodded and her eyes shone with unshed tears.

"I have something else to tell you, Alistair and I beg you to listen to all I have to say."

That cold finger crept down his back again and Alistair shivered, nodded and indicated she should take a seat. She sat before the desk, in her accustomed chair, and he sat behind. What else could she possibly have to tell him? He'd yet to thoroughly sort through Aedan's tale yesterday and keeping it from Brenna had been difficult. But he would, he would keep his word to Aedan, always.

Leliana extracted a small bottle from the pocket of her dress and set it on the desk.

Alistair looked at the murky liquid in the vial and he shook his head. What in Thedas…?

"This is a gift. From Morrigan."

Instinctively he flinched from the bottle and leaned back in his chair. He did not want to ask, he did not want… "What is it?"

Leliana licked her lips and let out a soft sigh. "It is the reason Aedan and I have Riordan."

Andraste's flaming sword… Alistair blinked at the bottle and looked up at Leliana and then back at the squat glass vial with its precious gift inside. "I don't understand." But he did, oh, he did.

Leliana gave him a look that refuted his words and confirmed his thoughts, and then, composing herself, her expression softening, she told him what he needed to know. "She did not know if it would work but obviously it did, we have our gift, our boy." Leliana reached across the desk and took his hand in hers. "Alistair, I know this will go against every instinct you have – to use magic, to trust Morrigan. But please think on it. There are many, many good reasons for you to accept this."

Alistair silently thanked her for not mentioning the obvious reasons he should not only think about this, but accept it. An heir, a continuation of the Theirin bloodline, and end to the speculation and gossip, Brenna's happiness and of course, lastly, his own happiness.

But the source of this gift undermined his more rational thoughts. Looking up, he asked, "Did you know… about Riordan?"

"No, neither did Aedan." She bit her lip and continued, "He still does not."

Maker's breath. "Will you tell him?"

"I don't know how he will take it, Alistair. So much has passed. I wanted to wait, but this couldn't. This potion will not stay potent forever. You have a matter of weeks to decide."

He actually found the idea of having weeks, rather than days, comforting. But Aedan did not know the source of his greatest joy. Though it was obvious to everyone that Aedan loved all his children, Alistair had been there the day Rory had been born. He had seen his friend's face, the wonder, the gratitude, had seen the reverent way he always held his own child, the way he studied his almost mirror image when he thought no one else observed him. He could not guess at how Aedan might react to knowing the source of his gift.

Leliana announced the Cousland's intent to return to Highever with Fergus after the Landsmeet and Alistair nodded his approval.

"Take as long as you need, Leliana." He cleared his throat and added quietly, "If you, if…" he sighed and wished for some of Brenna's eloquence, "If you decide not to come back, here, to Denerim, your role as chancellor, I will understand, Leliana. You know you are always welcome here in any capacity, but you need to do what you want to do."

Tears brimmed and then spilled from her eyes. She hugged him tightly and whispered, "You are a good man, Alistair. We are all lucky to have you, as a king and as a friend."

After she left, Alistair avoided looking at the vial on his desk and the folded paper next to it, the words he apparently would have to say should he choose to perform his own private ritual. Then he sat and looked at it, and then he avoided it again. He picked it up and put it down. He slipped it into his pocket and left his office to find Brenna.

He did not know if he could tell her about the ritual, he did not know if he could not tell her about it. Surely this should be a decision they would make together? But as he walked he wondered if Brenna really needed to know, she was a righteous and upstanding woman, this may feel like cheating to her. And yet she wanted a child as badly as he did. Not just as an heir, but as a product of their love, something they both would have a part in. Would she forever hate herself or second guess her decision in this matter, either way? Would he? What if she said no? When did he decide to go through with it? Alistair blew out a breath and realised he'd become lost, in his own palace. Glancing about himself he saw that he'd walked towards Zevran's quarters. By mistake, or not?

He knocked on the door.

Zevran did not answer, but just the act of standing outside the door helped Alistair to rationalize his thoughts. He knew which path the rogue would council and he knew why.

Alistair returned to his own apartments in time to watch Brenna saying farewell to Luke, Leliana, Rory and Grace. She had been babysitting again, or maybe Leliana had just sensed Brenna needed to be weaned off her children slowly. This struck him as exactly something Leliana would guess and indulge. He had worried about Brenna's state after having played mother for a month. He exchanged a shoulder clasp with Luke and a fond kiss on the cheek with Leliana. She held his gaze for a moment longer than necessary and he nodded. Her blue eyes brightened and she left with her children.

Barely waiting for the door to close, Alistair crossed to his beloved wife and pulled her close. Sensing his mood, she held him and lifted her face towards his for the expected kisses, which he gave, lovingly.

"We will be late for dinner," she said softly, breathlessly, a small while later.

Taking hand, he tugged her towards the bedroom door. "Dinner can wait. I have a gift for you."


	40. The Teyrn of Gwaren

The Teyrn of Gwaren

Luke sat on the steps of the Landsmeet Chamber and pulled at the collar of his shirt. The wide doors were open to let in the vague breeze that stirred the last summer air and the voices of the assembled nobles drifted out towards him. He had stood inside, next to Aedan, for a short while, but his presence was not required and as the stuffy atmosphere had closed about him, reminding him somewhat of the Deep Roads, Luke had excused himself for a breath of air. He now sat next to his shadow, his companion and friend, an elf whose presence in the chamber was never tolerated well, despite his association with both the King and the Wardens.

Luke had not seen a lot of Zevran over the past week, they had all been busy. Patrols continued to watch the south, clean up the city and explore the ruins beneath the Fort more thoroughly. They had both taken turns babysitting Rory and Grace with the Queen. He turned to his friend now and asked quietly, "Has Aedan talked to you since his return?" They both knew Luke did not refer to an idle chat. He meant the secret, the story behind Aedan's mysterious illness and Leliana's distress.

"He has not, my young friend. He avoids me, as does Leliana." Turning to face him, Zevran added with a sardonic smile, "He has spoken to Alistair, though."

A twinge of jealousy gripped Luke. He had spent time with Aedan, they had talked, they had really talked, but not about what had happened. "He has? How do you know?"

"Because the King now avoids me also."

Luke frowned at his boots. "What do you think they are hiding?"

"I truly cannot tell. If I did not know better, I would say something has shamed them, but embarrassment does not leave such scars."

They had all seen the marks on Aedan's arms and the subtle changes to his face, the bruises that had now faded. Luke had noticed how carefully the warrior carried himself, as if his body pained him. A fever would explain that, but not a broken nose. But now Luke understood Zevran's words less than he did Aedan and Leliana's silence on the subject of their ordeal, and what passed between Aedan and Leliana confused him more than the half truths and untold stories of their time in Val Royeaux. They were so tentative with one another. The easy relationship and open love they had always shared had changed to something different. They seemed to collide against one another with a desperate need one moment and avoid each other entirely the next.

Glancing sideways at Zevran, Luke blew out a breath and jerked his head towards the chamber and said, "Does it sound like they're nearly done?"

"You have been to more of these meetings than I have, my friend. You should be inside and not out here talking to an elf, no?"

Luke heard the humour in his friend's voice and he smiled. As if on cue he heard Brenna's impassioned voice rise above the crowd as she pled for her favoured cause and the issue that most divided the nobility and at times threatened Alistair's rule – equality for the elves. Since the Blight, the reconstruction of the alienage had been completed with the exception of one thing: no gates. Invisible barriers of fear, distrust and difference had marked the entry ways for at least a year with only the brave willing to cross over until the daughter of Arl Wulff had become queen. Some nobles laughed at and derided her efforts, but a vast majority warmed to the small woman with the challenging green eyes, the other half of Ferelden's rule. Merchants began to use the shorter route through the alienage to the Market District and the elves themselves were encouraged to join the guard and army and send their children to be educated with human children. None of this went smoothly but people tried.

Brenna argued now for the hahren of the alienage, Shianni, to be a representative for the elven quarter in the Landsmeet. Dalish elves had attended Landsmeets on and off during the last five years. Land had been gifted twice and they came to accept the treaties and out of respect for the gifts. Though they stood in uneasy company, their faces had become almost familiar to the nobles. Shianni's unadorned city elf face reminded them of their servants. A vote was called for and Luke rose to his feet and stepped inside the doors to watch.

Fergus voted first, as the highest ranked noble in Ferelden, and he voted with Brenna. All eyes swept towards Leliana next, the expected source of the Gwaren vote and Luke heard the grumbling and dissent. Though accepted in the role of Alistair's chancellor, many did not relish her role as Teyrna of Gwaren. Not only her accent, but her dual role seemed to irk the dissidents, those who looked for any excuse to undermine Alistair's rule. Today her loudest opponent, Bann Ceorlic, remained quiet. He had made no noise upon his return to the city, had gathered none of his former band of detractors. Bann Esmerelle took on his role as she vociferously objected to her neighbours.

Leliana made no move to vote, she remained quiet, standing beside Alistair. Instead, Aedan stepped forward from the ranks of nobles, raising a murmur from the crowd.

"Gwaren votes with the Queen," he said quietly but firmly.

The Teyrn of Gwaren, and Luke had a hard time thinking of his father as Teyrn and not Warden Commander, exchanged a warm smile with his wife and Luke could see the visible effort they made to restrain themselves for their usual show of affection whilst at such a solemn and important event. They had seemed closer today, husband and wife, more like themselves, as if important events swept their differences aside. Aedan then stepped back to his place and the votes continued.

Leaning against the door frame, Luke turned to Zevran and grinned. "You can probably come in now."

Though an occasional noble voted against the measure, the motion passed and Shianni was formally welcomed to the Landsmeet and give her vote. The meeting moved on to naming an Arl of Denerim, something that did not require a vote, but which elicited yet more noise from Esmerelle's coterie. Luke recognised the name put forward and he raised his brows in surprise. He then realised another Warden had not been given a title, but that Garrett of South Reach had been offered the position. With a grateful look the man accepted and hastily parted company with his sister, Habren, whom he left with the title of Arlessa of South Reach by default. All's well that ends well, Luke thought and chuckled. He sensed either the fair hand of Leliana or Teagan in this deal.

Discussions, appointments and votes out of the way, the Landsmeet attempted to devolve into a social occasion. Fergus called for everyone's attention, however, and as one the nobles gave it. He spoke very few words, basically reiterated the events that had concluded last week, the tainted plague, the darkspawn beneath the fort, the Mage.

"I wanted to express my gratitude to a King not only willing, but prepared to fight on behalf of his people and for his quick and decisive victory." Fergus paid due to Alistair's role as a Warden and for once it seemed to go over well with all. A cheer rose up amongst the nobles and they thanked and praised their King.

Alistair accepted gracefully, his hand gripping Brenna's and he turned to grasp Fergus's arm fondly. The King then formally thanked the Wardens and Garrett stepped forward to accept his gratitude. Luke frowned lightly as he watched Aedan watch the proceedings.

Aedan had always been a quiet man, talkative to those he felt comfortable around, but prone to introspection. Since waking from his fit, he had been even quieter than usual. Luke observed that his silences often seemed almost devoid of thought. Aedan watched the assembled nobles now as if slightly disconnected to him, and then he blinked and smiled as Leliana moved to his side. He encircled her with his arms and leaned into her, heedless of the public venue. No one but Luke seemed to pay them any mind as the nobles continued to cluster about Alistair to offer their congratulations, remarks or gripes.

As the burble of voices rose and fell in the Landsmeet chamber, Luke leaned back against the doorframe once more, grateful the shade and the breeze, and let his thoughts range over the previous week.

He had been as shocked as everyone else by the condition of both Aedan and Leliana upon their return. While Aedan drew the most attention, Luke noticed immediately that Leliana looked exhausted. At first he had assumed that Aedan's restless company had been more tiring than any of them could have anticipated, but the way she clung to her children, to him, spoke of something different. It was as if she had not expected to see any of them again, and when she did, she seemed to lose the last vestiges of her control and she literally fell apart. Of course, as with everything the bard did, it was a graceful decline. She tried her best to do it all: care for Aedan, be with her children and fend off the polite then not so polite questions. No one seemed to believe Leliana's story of a fever, he could hear it in their questing tones and see it in their curious eyes. And so she retreated from even her friends, often becoming as silent as the somewhat broken man she cared for.

Luke watched over Aedan, after his collapse at the docks, with a selection of partners for two days and during that time he encouraged his adoptive mother to talk. He approached her quietly when they sat alone. Aedan lay still, his raving and shaking over for the time being.

Leliana sat quietly on the bed, holding Aedan's hand, and Luke perched on the chair beside, trying to think of a non confrontational way in which to connect with her. He wanted to know, Maker's breath, he wanted to know what had made them both so frail, but he knew she would not tell him. Putting that aside, he just wanted to talk to her. He had missed her for a month and now he wanted to let her know he was here for her, for both of them.

"Leli, I hope one day you can tell me what happened, but I won't pester you with questions." He'd seen her and Alistair arguing and it had pained him to see two such good friends exchanging angry words. They had made up afterwards, of course, but the strain on Leliana was obvious. "I'll just sit with you and be here for you, alright? You can hug me as much as you like," he added with a shy grin.

Leliana looked up at him and her features softened. She squeezed Aedan's limp hand and let it go before standing up and taking his own hand and tugging him to his feet. "Oh, Luke. I have not meant to neglect you."

"No, no, you haven't, you have Aedan to care for, I understand."

She tilted her head. "Perhaps I should take a break? Come, let us go spend some time together."

As he stood he marveled again at how he now looked down upon her and he put his arm companionably about her shoulders and guided her towards the door. They sat together on the couch in the living room and Leliana leaned her head back and sighed quietly. Luke realised then that he looked at Leliana in a different way. Not so much as a mother, but as a friend, a dear, dear friend. It had to do with the way she appeared, unguarded and not her usual self, the vulnerability he sensed.

He suspected it also had to do with the previous few weeks, coming into his own as a Warden. Since returning to the surface from the Deep Roads many things looked different. Items he had taken for granted before, simple things like clean clothes or the fact that he could always find something to eat, jarred him. Other differences plunged him deeply into philosophical thought – the warmth of the sun against the coolness of the air, being able to close his eyes in darkness and open them to light. Windows. Privacy, not having to share his space with other men and being able find peace and quiet when he wanted. He'd looked upon his comrades differently also. Part of it had to do with a new found respect for life, not that he hadn't ever found it a precious thing, easily taken. Part of it had to do with the way his brothers looked upon him, as one of them, truly and completely.

And so now he looked upon Leliana as an adult looks at another and realised that for some time, she had looked at him in exactly the same way and he had missed it. Now she looked tired and worried and she needed him to be that adult, a shoulder she could lean on for a change.

She opened her eyes and gazed at him quietly and he asked, "Did anything good happen while you were away? Are there any light hearted stories you can share, something that might lift your spirits?"

Her face relaxed into a smile and she sighed softly. "You are a gift, Luke. How did you know exactly the right thing to say?"

Shrugging, he fought the feeling he might flush and merely waited for her to continue.

"We did have a few very lovely days." Her brows furrowed and smoothed as she obviously sorted the good from the bad. "I kicked him to the dirt one day, Luke. I wish you could have seen it. We sparred together and I knocked him flat on his back."

Luke grinned; he wished he had seen it! "How did he take it?"

"He laughed! But of course he would, wouldn't he?" She looked wistful a moment. "Our first day there was my birthday and we spend the whole day doing what I wanted. That was his gift to me." Her lip trembled as she continued. "He bought me a dress and we had lunch at my favourite inn. We walked and talked, it was a lovely day. Then we went to a ball. Aedan looked so very handsome," she paused and blinked over shining eyes, "We danced and he sang to me…" her voice caught in her throat and the tears came and Luke shuffled over and hugged her close. Though he felt a vague sense of guilt at having provoked the tears, he realised she needed to cry and he held her as she did, somewhat gratified that she could so openly.

She clung to him in a way that frightened him a little, but he said nothing, simply let her cry herself out. His own eyes moistened and he sniffed a bit, but did not indulge though his heart twisted with sympathy. Leliana needed comfort and after all she had given him over the years, it seemed a simple thing to give back.

When she tired, he insisted she take his room. Having rediscovered the value of privacy and the peace of time alone, he sensed Leliana could also use some of that solitude and perhaps a little distance. She hesitated, and then took up his offer. He went back to sit with Aedan while she slept and at some point Fergus joined him and they conversed softly about nothing of consequence until Aedan started raving again and then they took turns holding him and soothing him.

Finally after two days Aedan came back to them and watching him sit on that couch and weep over Wyman and the other losses of tainted plague had been awful. The Warden Commander did not shed many tears; he either went quiet or berserk. But even in his weakened state the familiar strength and determination burned in Aedan's cool blue eyes. Luke saw it and took comfort from it.

Over the course of the past week he had watched Aedan and Leliana rebuild themselves. Every day they stood straighter, talked for longer and their hugs became less fierce as they sought less to support themselves and more to offer simple affection.

When he spoke with Aedan, finally and properly, Luke experienced the same odd sense of adulthood he had with Leliana. Aedan looked upon him as a man; he could see it in those blue eyes. Leliana often joked about Aedan not being able to bluff and though it had pained him to see the anger and guilt in the older warrior's eyes, he now appreciated that he'd also always seen Aedan's love for him as well. And it was still there, underlined with a new respect.

"Garrett tells me he is going to give you a permanent spot in the new Eastern Patrol."

Luke nodded, unable to keep a small smile from his face at his first proper assignment. "I will be able to spend more time in Denerim with Leliana and the children," he hesitated, "and you." He wasn't sure where Aedan would spend his time as he would not be returning to Amaranthine with the Wardens. "When I am not on patrol, of course."

Aedan's gaze became distant for a moment and Luke feared the man might slip into one of his silences, but instead he refocused and continued. "We will be in Highever for some time first. Will you come visit us, Luke?"

"I might come with you for the first month; I am due some leave, apparently. I, er, I am not sure." He hadn't been sure he might be welcome. With both Aedan and Leliana looking upon him as a man now he felt less like their son, and as they recovered, they seemed to be drawing together again, as closely as they had once been knit, and Luke felt excluded from this new bond. He tried not to let it trouble him over much, men grew up and parted from their families all the time. Relationships changed. But on top of the past month, he wasn't sure he was quite ready for the parting, his new role as a fully fledged Warden, the responsibilities of adulthood.

"Luke, you are always welcome wherever I am. Always. You are my son." Aedan's face creased in a smile. "Our family is not complete without you. There are five Couslands, remember that."

"A Warden with a last name." Luke grinned.

"And Wardens with titles and wives and children. What is it Alistair is always saying? We do things differently here in Ferelden?"

"Do you think you'll ever come back to Amaranthine?" The question left Luke's mouth before he thought properly on it, but it had been on his mind. He found it hard to imagine being a Warden without Aedan either at the helm or at his side. Part of his gratitude towards his assignment to Denerim stemmed from the fact his room at Vigil's keep would no longer be adjacent to that of the Warden Commander, his father. He would be alone up there, but for his friends. A soldier's life might be solitary, but Luke felt he wasn't quite prepared for that part yet. While he had the opportunity to stay near family, he would.

Aedan frowned lightly and in an old and familiar habit, rubbed at the scar on his forehead. His sleeve fell back revealing the newer scars on his forearm and Luke couldn't help but look at them. Dropping his hand, Aedan looked at him seriously. "I just don't know. Right now I can barely hold a blade. You were all correct. I needed a break and not just a holiday with my wife. If anything good has come of my… my illness, it is that I cannot fight now." He paused for breath and his eyes lost their focus for a moment. "I am sure if I had to, I would." He blew out a sharp breath. "Like a fool I would lift my blades and sacrifice myself to my oath, my duty."

Turning to look at him, Aedan continued more softly. "But Ferelden does not need me at the moment. She has you, Luke, and all the other Wardens. She has a Warden King. I…" he swallowed and Luke saw that these next words would not come easily. He also sensed that Aedan needed to say them. "I am not alone. It is not just my fight. I do not need to, to… save you all."

Aedan looked down at his hands and Luke let him take a moment to compose himself. He needed a moment to do the same. This man looked like Aedan, spoke like Aedan, but his words, the admissions and the lack of recrimination just did not sound like Aedan. He could not help wondering again what had happened to have changed him so much, to have wiped the guilt from his mind and the anger from his soul. Luke knew he might never know the full story, but he wished that whatever had happened hadn't been so obviously violent, hadn't left such scars as were both visible and hidden, hadn't nearly broken Aedan and Leliana both.

Looking up, Aedan continued. "I am just the Teyrn of Gwaren now." Then he chuckled. "Listen to me, just the Teyrn, as if that role in itself carried no importance." A more familiar grin settled about his mouth and his blue eyes sparkled with humour as he continued. "When we leave Highever, I intend to spend my time between Gwaren and Denerim, just as a noble should. I shall meddle in politics and strike fear into the heart of my seneschal by actually reading his reports _and_ making comments."

Luke shared in the quiet laughter that followed. The image of the Hero of Ferelden, the former Warden Commander, dogging the footsteps of his seneschal just amused far too much. He knew Aedan not only understood, but actually had a head for politics. It required the same analytical thought processes he had used as commander of an army, coordinator of a war effort. And, of course, he'd effectively run Amaranthine, with the help of Varel, for five years.

Biting his lip a moment, Luke decided to go ahead with his next soft comment. "I'll miss you, Aedan. As a brother and Commander. All the Wardens will."

Aedan pulled him into a hug. "I'll miss you too, Luke. But there comes a time when every father has to learn to let go."

Luke squeezed his eyes shut and tried not to let a tear slip out. He'd fought for this for so long and now that Aedan prepared to part with him, finally, he found he wasn't really ready to go.

His reverie was broken by Aedan and Leliana and Luke drew his mind forward to the Landsmeet chamber again, aware that his eyes felt a little moist and that his face did not hold the same joyous smile as the rest of the assembled nobility had.

"Are you alright, Luke?" Leliana asked, slipping her free arm about him, joining the three of them together.

Blinking, Luke nodded and smiled at them both. "I am."

"Let's go gather the children then," Aedan said, his face actually animated and somewhat excited. "It's time for the Couslands to head home to Highever."

* * *

_a/n: This is Luke's final chapter, as the previous was Alistair's last word. :) I have two chapters to go: Leliana and of course, Aedan. I will try to put those up next week. Sorry for the slow pace this week, these last chapters have been harder to write, more thoughtful, and I hate saying goodbye._


	41. Secrets and Lies

Secrets and Lies

The journey to Highever took twice as long as it should, but Fergus and his men took great pains to accommodate the Couslands. Aedan walked slowly enough that Rory and Grace were able to keep pace with him and they did for hours at a time and Leliana delighted in watching him interact with his children in a way he had not done in months. He told them stories and listened to theirs, and even though he still recovered his strength, he carried them in turns, though not on his back.

Alistair had wanted them to take horses or at least one for Aedan to ride, but the warrior had refused, saying the walk would help him recover his strength. The old stubbornness had flashed in his eyes and Alistair merely grinned in response. The two men had hugged and referred to one another fondly as 'brother', and then had exchanged a long look, devoid of words. It seemed to Leliana that they both wanted to say more, but recent events defied being summed up in a simple sentence or as part of a farewell.

The king finally gripped his brother's shoulder and said quietly, "Be well, Aedan."

Leliana exchanged hugs and kisses with everyone assembled to see them off to Highever. The gathering felt more subdued than the crowd that had seen them onto the ship at Amaranthine, but somehow more appropriate.

Brenna held her hands a moment longer than necessary and took her time saying goodbye to the children. Tears shone from her cheeks and her attitude tended to indicate Alistair had not shared the knowledge Morrigan's gift with her. Leliana knew he had used it, however, she could read it in his eyes. They did not speak of it, but as they said farewell, he expressed his gratitude, saying only obliquely, "Thank you for all your gifts, Leliana. We will miss you. Take your time, be with your family."

Leliana nodded and kissed his cheek and then hugged him closely. "I will be back," she whispered, "and you will have news for me, I know it."

The gathered Wardens crossed their arms in salute to Aedan and he looked faintly embarrassed at their show of respect. Garrett stepped forward and they grasped arms. "Maker watch over you, Commander."

Aedan didn't wince; he merely nodded and gave the expected reply. "May he watch over us all."

Luke bid his brothers farewell and turned to Zevran. "I will see you in Denerim?"

"As always, my friend."

Leliana smiled fondly at the elf and moved to take his elbow. As with Alistair and Aedan, it seemed no words could sum up what had passed between her and the former assassin and they simply smiled at one another a moment before Leliana kissed his cheek in farewell.

She had visited with him the day after the Landsmeet and had attempted to persuade him to come to Highever with them.

"I do not belong..."

"Yes, yes you do, Zevran. Not a day has gone by that you have not fought at the side of my husband or my son, you are…" words failed her and Leliana dropped her gaze to the ground, aware that Zevran looked at her quizzically. These were not the reasons she wanted him with them. She wanted the elf to come along because she needed a friend, a sympathetic ear, someone to be with when Aedan was not fit company. She knew Aedan tried and she felt in her heart that things would return to normal when he had rested properly and had had time to clear his mind, but she had realised that she needed someone else to lean on in the meantime. Further, Leliana knew that Zevran would offer to be that person, without question.

When she looked up again, Leliana let go a short sigh and put on a brave face. "There are some things that only you would understand, Zevran. Things I would ask your help in… making peace with. Aedan would forgive me anything, but I think we all know it is harder to forgive ourselves. And… I need a friend."

To his credit, the former assassin did not flinch or widen his eyes, his face remained almost passive. Then he nodded and, reaching out, gripped her elbow fondly. "I am your man, Leliana."

"Secrets and lies, Zevran. I am worn from keeping them and Aedan needs me strong."

"You have kept secrets before, Leliana. You and I… we excel at such things."

Leliana glanced over at her companion. "But not from those I love."

Zevran tried to look cynical and Leliana indulged him for a moment before shaking her head, a small smile across her mouth. Zevran chuckled. "I will keep your secrets if you will keep mine."

Leliana outlined the events of Val Royeaux, pausing at the point where Morrigan had intercepted her attempt on Paul Le Trene's life. She looked up to catch Zevran's expression and saw that he listened quietly, his warm amber eyes offering no judgment. She continued on through the rescue, her victory over Marjolaine. She omitted only what Marjolaine had done to her in the bedroom, the 'reward' her former mentor had favoured her with.

"Aedan would forgive you these things. Why do they trouble you so?"

"I told him all this, but he was barely recovered at the time. The story caused the first of these fits that take him." Leliana did not like the way her voice rose slightly at the end.

Zevran stopped beside her and grasped her elbow. "Leliana, you know I would never judge you, in thought or deed. In the same situations, Aedan would have hesitated less."

"Do you remember when we talked of clean deaths?"

Zevran nodded.

"I did not give Marjolaine a clean death." She had twisted her blades, she had seen the agony in the woman's eyes and she had felt the spark of triumph, had not taken even a moment since to mourn the loss of a former lover.

"This is something he does not need to know, yes?" He tilted his head. "But again, he would understand."

"I do not think so, he has such honour. Perhaps even now he would have let her go, again."

"He did not let Howe go."

No, he had not. Leliana blinked. Had she been so absorbed in her own guilt that she had forgotten the manner in which Aedan had not only killed Howe, but what he had tried to do to the body afterwards?

"He would not have tortured someone as we did Paul Le Trene." In an attempt to push aside her anguish, Leliana adopted an almost angry and bitter tone. "I have taken lives for less, Zevran. Why does this bother me so? Why do I feel such regret?"

"I will not tell you it should not. Will I share a secret with you?"

Zevran told her of his greatest regret, of Rinna, his former lover. He prefaced the tale by mentioning that Aedan had known this story for over five years. That, even more than the former assassin's tale of regret, opened her eyes. She had thought she and Aedan had no secrets from one another, and now she realised that Aedan had kept a secret for a friend. He had held it close and now she admired him for it. It meant they did not need to share everything in their love, that some things could remain their own. It helped her decide that the knowledge of Rory's conception would remain her own. The knowledge of the gift she had given Alistair. But those secrets did not come with regrets or bitterness, or the feeling she had betrayed herself.

Zevran finished his story with, "So you see we all carry regrets, Leliana. Perhaps your faith…?"

Her faith. It was an intuitive question on Zevran's part. "I had no right to make these choices. The Maker could not possibly forgive my selfishness." Her voice caught and Leliana felt her self control slipping once again, as it had so often over the past week or so. Endlessly tired she had found herself prone to tears and silences not unlike Aedan's.

"The Maker forgives all."

Squeezing her eyes shut, Leliana fought against the tears. She felt a gentle touch upon her arm and opened her eyes. "But there is another secret you are keeping from him, one you need to tell him. In this he can comfort you in a way I cannot, my friend. And his vengeance has already been served. Marjolaine is dead."

Leliana gaped at Zevran, wide-eyed, the last of her masks falling away completely. His face softened and he showed her a true look of sympathy, looked upon her properly as a friend. Leliana dropped her gaze. How had Zevran known? After a moment's thought she realised she should have been more surprised if Zevran had not guessed of all the ways in which Marjolaine had used her, the depraved reward. "How did you know?"

"You are not the only one to have been _used_ against your will, Leliana."

Zevran was not overly fond of hugs and they had confessed rather intimate things. Leliana instead grasped his hand and held it and simply nodded at her friend with her lips pressed together and the tears now on her cheeks. "Thank you, Zevran."

Squeezing her fingers Zevran murmured quietly, "I will not say it was a pleasure." With a tilt of his head and a warm smile he continued, "But I am honoured by your trust." He let go of her hand and made a dismissive gesture towards his door. "Now you must go pack your bags before I start to sound emotional."

He let her hug him then and Leliana thanked him again, this time simply for his friendship.

The Couslands left Denerim the next day.

The first night at camp passed quietly. The young children and Aedan were tired and all three of them fell asleep in front of the campfire. Leliana sat with Luke and Fergus and she could hear the chatter of the Highever soldiers a short distance away as they gathered about their own fires. The advantage of traveling with a small army was that none of them would be required to hold watch. Fergus has insisted he would, as leader of his men, but Aedan had been surprisingly easy to dissuade. Looking at him now, curled on his side with his arm over Rory and Grace snuggled in as close as she could be, Leliana couldn't help but smile.

Fergus leaned in to comment quietly, "He looks so peaceful, Leliana, even when awake. But it is an illusion, isn't it?"

"Somewhat, Fergus. There are things he has made peace with, thank the Maker. But as always, there are things he has yet to deal with." Turning, Leliana placed a hand on the Teyrn's arm. "How are you? Tell me what his happening in Highever?"

The second day of travel included cranky children and a completely silent Aedan who paced slightly apart from the group. Leliana indulged his silence, she didn't feel talkative herself. Since they had returned from Orlais she had had days where she envied his ability to retreat so completely. Leliana wished she had a place to go where the memories did not linger and fatigue did not pull at her body and mind. But her talk with Zevran has served to start her own restoration and though she longed to talk of the same things with Aedan, to recount not only her adventures, but her lingering guilt and sadness, she now felt she had the time to continue on for a while without collapsing beneath the weight of it. Zevran, as always, had proved himself a good and loyal friend.

A short storm had them stopping early the third night and setting up tents instead of basking in the glow of the stars. Rory and Grace slept with their father for the third night in a row and while Leliana felt a twinge of jealousy, it melted away when he grinned at her over their sleeping forms and whispered, "My children and my wife in my bed, just as I wanted."

On the fourth day he walked even more slowly than the day before. She could see the pain warring with the pride in his eyes and she could see how everyone else seemed afraid to interfere. No one was used to the quiet Aedan, they remembered the angry Aedan.

They camped that night in a peaceful spot near a river and Leliana claimed a spot next to her husband after dinner. Aedan slipped his arm about her shoulders and they sat quietly listening to Luke and Fergus talk. His silence felt companionable and Leliana simply enjoyed his closeness until his weight fell subtly against her and she realised he had fallen asleep. She pressed a kiss to his pale cheek and laid him down gently and then slipped herself in next to him, wanting to sleep in his arms. It seemed that the long days of walking tired him out enough that he didn't dream for so far he slept peacefully every night on the road.

The next morning he admitted defeat and asked for a day of rest. She could see what it cost him to ask, yet the calmness with which he asked, the lack of frustration, seemed at odds with the Aedan she had come to know. He seemed to have changed in so many ways, but later, she reflected that before Luke had become tainted, before his obsession with the darkspawn had properly taken hold, he had often been a calm man.

Taking her hand, Aedan asked her to swim with him and they found a secluded cove along the river bank where they might swim peacefully together, leaving the children in the care of Luke and Fergus. They undressed quietly and as Leliana made to stand and walk towards the water, Aedan tugged at her hand and laid her down on the river bank and kissed her instead. After they had made love it occurred to Leliana that she might tell him now, her secret, that he seemed peaceful and receptive. But he tugged on her hand a second time and they swam.

They played in the water and laughed, properly. He caught her in wet embraces and kissed her over and again. For a time the years and memories melted away and they simply enjoyed one another's company as they had not in far too long.

After a time he led her to the shore she let him stretch out on his back before she snuggled next to him. They lay silently in the sunshine for a while and Leliana thought he might have fallen asleep, but then he started talking quietly.

"Do you know what this reminds me of?"

"The river?"

"Yes. Do you remember during the Blight, on the way to the Landsmeet, that day I called for a break and we swam in the river, you, me and Jack."

Jack, Aedan's mabari, and she had lasted a lot longer than Aedan himself, she remembered. He had slept on the bank while she continued to play in the water. Leliana remembered the day well, it had occurred not long after they had declared their love for one another and they had still been so tentative together.

"I remember."

"That was the day you told me how you got your scars."

Leliana nodded against his side, unable to make a verbal response as her throat closed. Aedan continued softly speaking.

"I told you I would protect you always." He turned his head to face her. "I haven't done a very good job."

Again, she did not know what to say, he sounded sad, not angry, he sounded resigned. He sounded as though he'd been thinking about that day and his words as they had walked and she decided that he probably had been.

"You have done your best, no one can ask any more of themselves or another," she finally said.

He rolled over and hugged her. "I wish we could go back and do it all again, Leli."

"I do not."

Aedan looked mildly surprised.

"We have our children and we have each other. What more could we want?"

He looked thoughtful a moment and then touched his nose to hers and whispered, "I want to be like you when I grow up. You're the smartest person I know."

Leliana giggled and he smiled in return. The smile met his eyes and he looked happy. Her heart lifted. He slept soon after, still holding her in his arms and Leliana indulged herself, letting her own eyes drift shut. Small hands plucked her awake sometime later and, opening her eyes, she saw Grace looking down at her.

"Can we swim too?"

Rolling over, she saw Aedan still slept and she also noted that without his shirt, all of his new scars were visible and that Rory stood behind him looking at them, the usual serious expression upon his face. Grace seemed oblivious as she tugged at Leliana's hand, saying, "Mummy, let's swim."

Leliana heard Luke approaching and she nudged Aedan awake, feeling lightly panicked, knowing neither man would respond well to the scars. Aedan opened his eyes, saw Grace and smiled. "Hello, Gracie," he said and held out his arms as he sat up. Grace moved forward into the hug and at the same moment, Rory leaned against him from behind, one finger tracing a mark down his back.

"Does it hurt, daddy?"

Aedan froze and then the panic Leliana felt flashed across his face as he saw Luke approaching and he nudged Grace lightly aside and reached for his shirt. Luke obviously saw the scars across his ribs, the marks of his other, lighter wounds, and he frowned, pressing his lips together, but said nothing. The two men exchanged a look and then Luke stepped properly forward and took Grace by the hand.

"Come on, Gracie, let's swim."

Rory ran after them and Leliana watched them all splash into the water, and then she turned to Aedan. He looked so very pale and… almost angry.

"I don't know how to tell him."

For once Leliana had no words of comfort. She did not know how to tell Luke any of their adventures either. A part of her never wanted him to know how terrible the world was, and another part of her recognised that he already knew. "Neither do I." She took Aedan's hand and held it in her own and together they watched their children play in the water.

"Rory knows," Aedan said unexpectedly a while later.

Leliana glanced at him and nodded. "He seems very calm about it."

Aedan grimaced. "Should we worry?"

"I do not know."

He raised their joined hands to his lips and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. "So long as we are alright, they will be alright."

Leliana smiled a truly happy smile as warmth flooded her heart. Today they might be on a quiet family holiday together and the rest of the afternoon passed in idyll.

They walked for another two days before Aedan required rest again. Then they made three more days and the pattern repeated itself until the day before they reached Highever. Though they were so close, everyone could see he could not walk that day. He could barely stand. He slept most of the day while the rest of the party played games, talked and generally lazed about between taking turns entertaining the children. Leliana spent as much of the day with Luke as possible and in order to deflect his attention from their secrets she asked him more in depth questions about his time in the Deep Roads. He told her about Mason and the other sad losses of life. He talked about his fear and the wounds he had sustained. He talked about Wyman and the funeral that had been held in the Mage's cavern.

Leliana offered her advice and comfort when solicited and by the end of the afternoon she felt properly close to Luke again and he seemed to regard her with less wariness in his eyes. She knew Aedan would have to be the one to decide when and how to tell Luke of their time in Val Royeaux, it would be something that passed between father and son, or brothers.

Evening discovered a relaxed atmosphere in the camp. They had camped within the circle of Fergus's men and listened to the stories and songs, joining in from time to time, and Leliana enjoyed the cheerful atmosphere. She left lighter, as she hoped she might, from her time with Luke. Aedan sat beside her and his day of rest had restored him as well and he leaned against her side, his arm about her shoulders and now and again his lips brushed her cheek or her ear.

Luke corralled the children and entertained them with stories and Fergus gave Aedan a very unsubtle nod and grin. "The enemy is distracted, that tent is all yours tonight, little brother."

Leliana felt herself actually blushing and she heard Aedan chuckle beside her, and then he was on his feet and leading her away and she felt the eyes of the camp upon her. It was a familiar feeling, really, she and Aedan were known for being affectionate and for disappearing and for having what Alistair referred to as a noisy tent, but after the past couple of years it felt almost unfamiliar again and Leliana delighted in it. She almost felt as if their love had become new all over again.

Much as she wanted to simply lie in his arms, have him love her and show her love in return, Leliana realised that she wanted to tell him her secret tonight, she wanted to properly clean the air between them and embrace this fresh start.

After they slipped inside the tent, but before Aedan could kiss her, she put a finger to his lips and whispered, "I need to tell you something."

He nodded quietly, concern in his eyes, but his arms did not drop their hold of her and he did not move away. She started to tell him what Marjolaine had done to her that last night and this time Aedan silenced her. He similarly placed a finger over her lips and then replaced that touch with a kiss.

"I guessed, Leli." He hugged her close and he kissed her hair and Leliana trembled, the relief of it was so great. She knew then that she didn't need to tell him about her guilt over twisting those blades, that on some level he probably already knew that too, and that he would comfort her just the same. Leliana realised now she had done him a disservice, she had doubted his love and his trust. She also now knew that what she had needed was not his forgiveness, but rather what he gave now – his comfort and love.

She hugged him close and let the sadness out and felt his love cover it and wash it away. "I love you, Aedan."

Aedan kissed away her tears and said the words she needed him to say. "I love you, Leli, and nothing will ever change that. My heart is always yours."


	42. Letting Go

Letting Go

Aedan could not quite get over the effort it cost him to get to Highever. He had walked the road between Denerim and his childhood home many times and never had it seemed so long. But the company had been patient and not once had they suggested he ride in the cart with the children. He did not know if that had been out of fear or respect, but either way he appreciated it as much as he had valued the days of rest provided him. The extra sleep had helped to not only restore his trembling limbs, but had given him precious moments with Leliana. By the time they walked through the gates of Castle Cousland their love had been fully restored. He held her hand and felt worthy of it, and her.

He paused outside his family home as memories assailed him. He remembered the night of Howe's treachery, but found it overshadowed by the day of his wedding. He had begun life here and he and Leliana had begun their future here. Those two things outweighed the dark times, he held fast to them as beacons of light.

Though he no longer felt as if he had lost or might lose the love of his life, his Leliana, Aedan knew he still needed to be here in Highever for many reasons. His body was weak and his mind still wandered. He had accepted the mantle of Teyrn of Gwaren, but did not yet feel ready to take it on. He could not yet hold a sword without a mixture of fear and sadness. But to him the most important reason was his family. He wanted to spend his days and his nights with his brother, his wife and his children, endlessly, until they begged respite from his company. He wanted to make up for the time he had lost. Aedan knew he could not recapture the days and the years, but he could replace them.

"Welcome home, little brother."

Aedan turned from his contemplation of the keep to clasp his brother's arm. "Thank you, Fergus."

"I do not need to tell you that you can stay as long as you like, this is your home too. It always will be."

Aedan nodded quietly. Then he blinked at both Fergus and Leliana in surprise. "I am still standing."

They gave him quizzical looks and he tried to explain, a flush taking his cheeks as he admitted his fear. "I expected to drop into a fit at the sight of the castle, for the memories to assail me more strongly. I thought I'd be weak from the road, but I am not." A smile replaced his confusion as he continued. "I am tired, though. Maker, I feel as if I could sleep for a week."

He very nearly did. Once he experienced the soft embrace of a real bed he found it hard to leave it and so he did not, for three days. He did not sleep the entire time; he indulged the silence for some of it, when Leliana was otherwise occupied. At other times he played with Rory and Grace, the three of them sitting cross-legged amongst the twisted bed clothes dealing cards and playing with a collection of rocks his son had collected from the garden. Simple games. Luke sat with him for hours one afternoon and they exchanged battle stories as two seasoned warriors. When Leliana visited they locked the door.

That those three days would comprise some of his happiest memories, Aedan had no doubt. He could have got up, got dressed, stepped outside for more than a visit to the privy, but he did not and did not feel as if he had to. He simply rested and enjoyed his family.

The day he finally did decide to dress and appear in the dining room for breakfast, having missed the meal by a couple of hours, Fergus looked up from his solitary place at the table and laughed at him. Quirking a brow, Aedan looked down to see if his shirt sat back to front or his pants had come undone. Fergus pointed to his head.

"You look sixteen again, Aedan. Before you noticed the opposite sex and actually started brushing your hair."

With a rueful grin Aedan reached up to smooth his hair and chuckled as he felt the unruly points and strands. "Leliana doesn't seem to mind."

"Oh, I am sure she minds, little brother; she is just too polite to say so." Fergus winked.

Aedan felt a flush taking his cheeks and he grinned. Of course that would be Leliana all over. She indulged his wrinkled shirts and his short hair, but always made a point of complimenting him when he made the effort to appear tidy.

Helping himself to a chair, Aedan sat and looked at Fergus's breakfast. His stomach growled and complained and he moved his gaze down there instead.

"Why are you eating so late, and where is everyone?"

"Leliana and Luke took the children to Highever. I am heading there myself soon, will you join me? I have a meeting with Bann Kyle, it shouldn't take long. Then perhaps we can take the little ones to see the ocean?"

Aedan nodded. The thought of the ocean beckoned. The endless expanse would be a good place to rest his eyes. Nan brought him a proper breakfast, something other than the sandwiches and apples he had subsisted on for the past three days, and Aedan tucked in heartily, causing Fergus to chuckle again.

"You are perhaps the only Warden who cannot blame your taint for either your appetite or your manners."

Aedan tried to look offended but failed. "I was second son, Fergus. I didn't need your refinement."

"Not according to mother."

With a grin Aedan recalled his mother's tireless efforts to coach him in more gentlemanly manners. "Shall I tell you Leliana doesn't mind my atrocious manners?"

"Shall I tell you she is too polite to comment?"

In fact, Aedan did watch his manners around his wife and he usually did not indulge as he had done this morning. But a youthful feeling gripped him, he felt almost like that sixteen year old Fergus had described. He felt as if for once his manners did not matter. But with Leliana on his mind, he slowed down, put aside his silverware and paused for breath. Fergus laughed at him again.

Later, when he contemplated his dress for their outing, he chose a nice shirt, one Leliana had picked out for him, one she liked. He checked his pants for wrinkles and stains and before he dressed he bathed, he washed his hair, he brushed it. He stood in front of a mirror with his eyes closed and took a deep breath. He opened his eyes.

Aedan flinched from his reflection. He had resolutely not looked at himself since the rescue, not in a mirror. He had looked at his body, he had felt for his new scars. Now he looked at his face and it took his breath away. As he'd discovered since the Blight, he did not like to gaze into his own eyes, did not like to read the shadows in their cool blue depths. Leliana always told him she could read everything in his eyes and he knew she spoke the truth. Even as a child he'd been a poor liar. He remembered practicing in front of a mirror, trying to keep his gaze steady and his eyes from widening. Much to his brother's amusement he had even asked to practice in front of him.

His blue eyes looked calm, but he could see the pain, the anger and the sorrow there. He wondered if it would ever fade. Tentatively he felt at the new profile of his nose, the extra bump that did not change his looks so much as it might have. He touched at the faint line across his cheek, one that would probably fade with time. He touched at another mark on his jaw, one that would not fade. He felt the old scar on his forehead. He looked so very different to what he remembered, particularly considering where he now stood.

Aedan thought back to the day of his wedding and the time he's spent before the mirror then. He remembered a more youthful aspect, more colour, more flesh. Now he looked tired and older than his twenty eight years. He also realised he looked more like Fergus and his father than he had previously realised. Thinking of Fergus, of the shadows in his brother's eyes, Aedan felt sad and selfish. He was not the only Cousland to have suffered loss. Part of his mission here in Highever would be to be a brother, a proper brother to Fergus, he decided.

The light exercise of walking into town and then accompanying his family to the beach felt good and Aedan reveled in the fresh air and sunshine. Leliana blinked at him when he first approached and then she grinned widely. "You washed your hair, you brushed it!"

Aedan felt his cheeks colouring and then she took in his neat clothes. Before she could open her mouth, Aedan grabbed her hand and said, "I know, I know. I am a terrible example to my children." He glanced at Luke and noticed the young man also had on a decent shirt and his hair looked brushed. He laughed and Luke rolled his eyes. "We are doing it for Leliana, right?"

Luke chuckled. "Right. And to set that good example for the next generation." He ruffled Rory's hair and the little boy who, as always, had been dressed immaculately by someone with more taste than his father, automatically reached up to smooth his short, thick hair.

Aedan could only laugh again. He did not have to worry about Rory picking up on his habits, it seemed. Grace caught the mood and added her high pitched giggles and they all laughed again. Aedan felt buoyed by the high spirits, he glanced at his family and he wanted to hug them all at once, they made him so very happy. He laughed all afternoon and he did hug them all, more than once, even his brother who seemed bemused by his mood.

The numbness found him the next day and Aedan spiraled into despair. Questions found their way into and out of his silence. Had he used up all the good humour allotted him in one day? Would his moods continue to fluctuate from day to day or week to week? He felt annoyed with himself and subsequently depressed.

Leliana seemed to sense his melancholy and left him to his own devices for the morning, returning after lunch to find him sitting in the same chair, still in the pants he'd slept in, staring dumbly at the window. He'd been thinking about the night Jean and his accomplice had taken Leliana out through that window as he lay poisoned beneath the bed, powerless. He felt powerless now, almost as if he'd been poisoned again.

Her hand fell upon his shoulder and he managed to turn his head and looked at her. He didn't apologise, he simply shrugged and slumped further in the chair, feeling loss and _at_ a loss.

"It will pass, Aedan. I had days like this. I still do. You have slowed down, is all." She waited for him to nod, to indicate he listened or heard. "Would you like me to sit with you?"

Until she'd asked he'd thought he wouldn't, but now he did. "Would you?" he asked, his voice soft, questioning.

She gave him a quick smile and pulled up a chair and sat beside him and took his hand. She didn't speak, she simply rested beside him and it was enough. The warmth of her fingers within his was enough.

And so the days passed. Most of the time he felt well and knew he would get better. He fished with Luke, he picnicked with Leliana and the children, he visited the town and helped Fergus conduct his business. Every now and then a low mood would catch him and he'd either give into it and hide or try to combat it by walking it out. Luke accompanied him on one of the walks, Fergus on another. He tried to take up a pair of blades, a sword and dagger. Though he did not feel the wrenching sadness, he didn't feel like wielding them either. He felt apathetic towards the weapons and after holding them a while, put them away.

A month passed and Luke prepared to return to Denerim. They held an informal party, just the family, the night before Luke left. He would be traveling in the company of some of Fergus's men who had family in Denerim and wouldn't mind the trip. Aedan knew his brother would have manufactured an excuse to send men with the boy, the young man he considered his nephew, had there not been one.

After a meal featuring all of Luke's favourites, Nan had adopted him as one of her own, and a few too many ales, Leliana pulled out her harp and they sang and danced until the little ones fell asleep, almost on their feet. Aedan thanked the Maker he'd had a good day, he'd been anticipating a bad one, not having hit a low ebb in over a week and thinking the sadness of seeing Luke off would erode his high spirits. The next morning he felt sad, not overwhelmed with it, and turned out to see the young Warden off. Leliana hugged her son tightly and kissed both his cheeks and hugged him again. She glanced at Aedan and then looked back to Luke and said, "We'll stop in and see you on our way to Gwaren."

Aedan was not sure when that would be, but he was starting to feel it might be soon.

When his turn to say goodbye rolled around, he took Luke aside and grasped his arm firmly man to man. "I know we didn't talk as you'd liked us to, Luke."

Luke started to say, "It's alright…"

But Aedan interrupted him. "No, it's not. But it's hard to tell some things to those you love." Aedan gazed at the young man and then pulled him into a hug. "Even now I don't want to let you go, Luke. You be careful in Denerim…"

"Zevran will watch over me."

"That he will. You watch over him too, alright?"

Aedan watched his son walking down the road until the figures dwindled from sight. He fought the urge to run after him, to beg him to stay. He kept himself busy for the rest of the day, playing with his children.

As he expected, the low mood hit him the next day. But it caught him differently. Instead of feeling nothing, he grieved for Luke, for the young man he loved as a son. Aedan knew he would see Luke again soon, perhaps within a month, if he could pull himself together. But his leaving signaled the end of something special, a magical time when the five, no, six Couslands had been together, all of them, day after day. They had been as family, sharing their lives, being predominantly happy.

Leliana left him alone for the morning, as had become her habit, and Aedan sat in his chair. But he felt restless, he didn't want to sit in silence and stare at nothing, he felt too sad. He went to look for Leliana, and when he found her, she looked properly surprised to see him. Glancing at the children, she looked back at him and asked, "Did you want me to come sit with you?"

"No, love. I, ah, wanted to come be with _you_." He glanced down at Rory and Grace and tried to smile, knowing his attempt came across as feeble. "And with these two." Crouching down, he held out his arms and the children stepped forward to be fussed over, as always, delighting in the attention of their father. As he talked with them he felt better, not entirely happy, but better.

Looking up at Leliana, Aedan tried to explain. "I'm just sad."

"So are we." She smiled kindly down at him.

Of course they were, they all loved Luke as much as he did.

It did not turn out the most wonderful day they had spent together, but it was pleasant enough. For the most part Aedan sat next to his wife and watched his children play. He indulged in his silence, but it felt different. He could speak when spoken to and he was there, not somewhere else.

After dinner Aedan sat with Fergus and the pair of them stared into the flames of the small fire that had been set to take the chill out of the evening air. Summer had given way to fall and though the days were still warm, the nights could be quite cool. Neither of them spoke a while and then Fergus broke the silence.

"You did well today, little brother."

Aedan raised a brow and turned towards Fergus, a questing expression on his face.

Fergus continued. "It must have been hard to let Luke go. He is so young."

"I, yes… he is." Aedan frowned. He didn't know if it was Luke's age or occupation of the combination of both that made it hard. Or if it was simply a matter of it just being hard to let go. What would it be like to let Rory go when he came of age? Or Grace? A slight pain caught him in the chest at the idea of all of his children being grown and gone. What would be his purpose then? Leliana's?

"Do you remember arguing with father, when you wanted to go to Ostagar, and he would not let you go?" Fergus asked.

The pain grew worse and his breath caught for a moment. Why did Fergus want to talk about this now? Dropping his gaze from his brother's face, Aedan looked the fire again. "Yes. I remember.

"You weren't much older than Luke is now. I argued on your behalf, Aedan. But he stubbornly held on to you, much as you have done with Luke. He blamed mother, of course, but I think she would have let you go. He couldn't."

Aedan felt tears press at his eyes as the sadness escalated and threatened to overwhelm him. He did not know what would have been worse – to have been there that night, to have seen his father so horribly wounded and be forced to abandon him, or to have been on the road unaware, to not know for months.

Covering his face with his hands, Aedan felt the tremble begin and he fought it, he sought to calm himself. To fall away from Fergus now would be to abandon him as he had his parents, and he didn't want to go.

"Maker, Fergus, I didn't want to go. I didn't want to leave them. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

He remembered screaming in the fade, he remembered kicking away at Duncan's hands and clawing at the stone to try and get back to his mother and father. He remembered the guilt. A pained sound emerged from his throat and he looked up to see Fergus's face streaked with tears.

"I know, Aedan, I know. And I have wished over and over that I had been here. Together we might have saved them, all of them." Oriana and Oren as well.

Fergus had lost so much more than he had. Aedan left his chair and went to crouch in front of his brother, he took Fergus's hands. "Brother, I'm sorry. I don't mean to be so selfish."

Fergus looked down upon him and tried to smile. "None of us means to be selfish. But we have to look after our selves first, don't we?" He paused and took a shallow and shaky breath. "Tell me why you are so sad, Aedan. I know it's not just because Luke is a Warden, or because you had to let him go." Fergus squeezed his hands. "We used to be so close, and now duty so often pulls us apart. I feel almost as if we hardly know one another anymore."

Aedan realised just how many secrets had from his brother. Terrible things, things he kept to himself because he thought either Fergus would not understand, or that his older brother had suffered enough. He sought to protect him. Why did he feel the need to protect everyone? All the time?

He asked Fergus. "Why do I feel the need to protect everyone all the time?"

"Because you are Bryce Cousland's son and he would have done, did do the same. It's you, Aedan, it's just who you are. Despite everything you've been through, in that you have not changed."

They talked long into the night and Aedan told his brother much. He divulged Grey Warden secrets and Fergus shed tears when he learned how Luke might have died during his Joining and how his life had been tragically cut short. Aedan cried with him.

Fergus talked of his son and his wife and how he still missed them, after five years, and how he thought he would never fill the hole in his heart. Aedan hugged him, one of the fierce hugs, and said that he would be there, that he would help fill the hole, that he would be a proper brother.

They talked about Orlais. Aedan did not go into a lot of detail, relationships and politics, he merely reiterated the kidnapping and torture. Fergus wanted to see the scars on his back and Aedan peeled his shirt away from his shoulder, letting him glimpse the still angry marks.

Then they started drinking.

When Leliana finally decided to break them up they were lying side by side on the floor, slurring at each other and poking sticks tipped with slices of bread into the fire, burning them and attempting to eat them. Discarded samples lay about them on the floor next to their empty mugs and a turned over bottle, also empty.

They clung to one another as she tried to encourage them to go to bed and they shed more tears. Aedan saw his wife glance from one to the other with a mixture of confusion and tolerance and he finally patted Fergus's shoulders and murmured, "I love you, Fergus."

"Me too, little brother." Fergus's comment was less enunciated and he staggered about until a servant helped steady him and walked him towards bed.

When Aedan awoke the next day he didn't remember how he'd got there. Leliana sat on the bed beside him, grinning.

"How is your head?"

Aedan felt it with his fingers and it felt fine… until he tried to lift it. Thedas started to spin.

"Ugh," he groaned and dropped it back to the pillow.

Still smiling Leliana said, "You know, I checked on you two last night, a few times. I only decided to come save you when it looked as if you might end up _in_ the fireplace."

Aedan thought about the previous night. "I told him everything, Leliana. Everything. Maker, we must have looked a pair of fools. We sobbed like children… and, oh, Nan is going to find a mess in the kitchen I fear. We couldn't find the bread."

Leliana laughed. "I took care of that, my love."

"Really? Leli, what would I do without you?"

"I do not know." She grinned. Then she sobered somewhat and patted his shoulder. "I am glad you two talked. He had been waiting for the opportunity, for some time, I think."

"We talk, we are close, but I suppose it's hard to tell your secrets to the ones you love. Fergus has been through so much and I didn't want to cause him more pain."

"Oh, my sweet Warden, I understand. I really do. We want to protect our loved ones from the horrors of the world, but we cannot. We cannot even save ourselves sometimes. Life is unpredictable."

They had had this conversation before, about how life pulled you in many directions, not always of your own choosing. Leliana likened it to playing her harp when she did not have a song in mind. When the tune took a life of its own and the unforeseen melodies occurred. "We have to embrace them, these unforeseen melodies, learn to harmonise with them. We do the best we can with what we have. No one can ask for more."

"Thank you for always being there, Leli. Even when you are not." He always had her in his heart. He understood he was always in hers, just as he was with Fergus and his brother was with him.

With a gentle smile, Leliana prodded him. "Come on, lazy bones. Let's get some exercise and clear that head of yours."

Aedan raised a brow. "Oh?" He grinned as he reached for her, growling softly.

"Aedan!" She laughed. "Not _that_ sort of exercise, or, well…"

Leliana succumbed to his charms and then she encouraged him to actually leave the bed and head outside. She took him to the practice yard and handed him a pair of blades. Fergus already stood there, his face pale and sweaty, his sword and shield equipped.

"What took you so long to get out here?" he complained, rubbing his head.

Leliana giggled and Aedan grinned at them both.

"Oh…" Fergus chuckled. "Alright, little brother, no more feeling sorry for yourself. You are a warrior, and a Cousland. Show me what you've got."

Aedan looked down at the blades and he winced at them and then hefted them, and fought with the urge to drop them. Then he lifted them and made a practice swing and started with his forms. He felt stiff and clumsy, but his body remembered what to do and he moved through all of the exercises without missing more than a single step.

He would not be fighting any darkspawn soon; he wouldn't be fighting anything for some time. Not until he regained his strength, but for the first time in weeks, months, Aedan did not worry about his future, he simply concentrated on the here and the now. The future would take care of itself. One way or another, it always did.

.

.

The End.

* * *

_To anyone who made it this far: Thank you.  
I hope you enjoyed reading my story as much as I enjoyed writing it._

_So many of you took the time to leave comments and I loved reading your thoughts and encouragement. Thank you._

_To Fly: Thank you for helping me analyse Leliana's motivations and for just listening…_

_To the Hearties: Thank you for being a collective shoulder to cry on  
(and for your support and encouragement!)_

_To Jeremie: Thank you for being an Orlesian Gentleman. :)_

_._

_A/N: And I'm done. Wow. This story has been such a journey. Though I had it all plotted pretty much from beginning to end before I sat down to write it, many of the characters reacted differently, to what I expected they might, to the situations I put them in. I wasn't sure at times if I could keep going, or wrap it all up as neatly as I did (I did, right?). _

_Their stories will all continue, of course. I have one-shots planned for Alistair and Brenna (they will have some news to share), Luke and Zevran (a certain conversation), and Luke and Aedan (they go fishing). Cian will also visit Aedan soon in a dream (just a visit! Flemeth will not find them for a few years yet, my boys need a break). Grace has a story coming up which, at this stage of plotting, will also include Aedan's return to the Grey Wardens. Rory will get a story too, I have a vague idea…_

A Perfect Day_ is set about eighteen months after the end of Unforeseen Melodies._


End file.
